One Thousand Tomorrows
by kbrand5333
Summary: AU fic, co-authored by kbrand5333 and Anastasia-G. A series of one-shots as we drop in on our favorite couple through history.
1. Camelot

**Camelot, during the reign of King Uther Pendragon**

The world is glistening. It is early spring, and overnight thunderstorms have given way to bright morning sunlight, and all the newly-sprouting green things seem to be straining towards the sun, soaking it in, deepening their flat green faces.

Prince Arthur enjoys early morning rides on days like this, especially after a long and cold winter during which he was forced to spend far too much time cooped up indoors.

Something catches his eye up ahead. It appears to be a young woman, walking on the path to Camelot. Arthur slows his horse to a walk, not wanting to startle her.

As he advances slowly, admiring her form, lithe yet curvy, her dark hair a cascade of curls down her back, she slips on the wet leaves and falls to the ground, her bag flying. Arthur spurs his horse to a trot to reach her.

"Are you all right, miss?" he asks, climbing down from his horse.

"I… I think so. Just horribly embarrassed, now that I know someone saw," she says, pushing herself up. He bends down and takes her hand, pulling her upright, his other reaching forward to lightly support her elbow.

_Her hand is wonderfully soft, delicate,_ he thinks as his fingers close around the small brown hand. Arthur is suddenly afraid of squeezing too hard lest he crush the tiny bones contained within.

His hands are strong and warm; sure of themselves. _Comforting and disconcerting at once._ "Thank you," she says and looks up at him.

Her translucent brown eyes hit him like nothing he's ever felt before. "You are most welcome," he manages, almost whispering. _I've never seen beauty like this before._

There is mud on her face. Arthur draws out a handkerchief and wipes the mud away, his other hand gently holding her chin, watching as charming freckles come into view as he clears the mud.

_His fingers feel like burning embers from my father's forge._

"There we are," he says with a smile.

She looks down, embarrassed again, this time by having her face cleaned as if she were a child. "Thank you again."

"That was a nasty fall, are you sure you're all right?" he asks again.

"Yes, I'm fine." She takes a step towards her bag. "Whoa!" she stops, teetering as she puts weight on her left ankle. Arthur instinctively grabs her around the waist to keep her from falling again.

_Her face is so close._ "Looks like you may have twisted your ankle," he says quietly. _She smells wonderful._

"It… it appears so," she whispers back, drawn into the blue-grey pools of his eyes.

Suddenly remembering himself, Arthur releases her from his embrace. Reluctantly. His arms ache to feel her soft curves within them again. He clears his throat.

"Are you… are you heading for Camelot?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Well then, you shall ride with me, I am heading there myself."

"Oh, no, I couldn't…" she starts, limping back a step.

"What are you going to do, hop the rest of the way into town?" he smiles, and she cannot help but laugh.

_She has a wonderful laugh._

Arthur strides over and retrieves her bag for her, slinging it onto his saddlebag.

He walks back to her and lifts her easily in her arms, as if she weighed nothing. Her heartbeat speeds up. _I could carry her in my arms the rest of the way to Camelot and beyond,_ he thinks.

"Up you go," he declares, swinging her up to sit sideways, both legs to one side.

"This would be easier if I was wearing trousers, sorry," she apologizes.

"Nonsense," he says, pulling himself up behind her and pulling her back so she is seated sideways across his lap.

The intimacy of the position makes him hold his breath for a moment, and when she slides her arm around his neck to hold on, he swears his heart stops beating.

He takes the reins with one hand and slips the other around her waist, holding tightly, and his aching arms get their wish. She takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the fluttering she feels in her stomach.

_Don't look down at that gorgeous cleavage you just saw rising above her bodice, _he reminds himself. _You are a knight._

"Tch," he commands the horse, and he starts forward.

"I'm sorry, I haven't given my name. I'm Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen."

"Guinevere," he repeats, feeling the name on his lips. "I'm Arthur," he introduces himself.

"Nice to meet you, and thank you again," she says. "Wait. Not _Prince_ Arthur?" she asks, eyes suddenly wide.

"The same, yes," he nods, as if it is no big deal.

"Oh… I… I'm…"

"What is it, Guinevere?"

"I shouldn't be riding with you like this. I'm… I'm the Lady Morgana's new maidservant. Today is my first day."

_Maidservant?_

"In that case, we shall be seeing a lot of one another, then," he says, striving to sound casual. _I hope. I shouldn't be hoping. She's a maid. I'm a prince. Still… there's something about this woman._

"Please, Sire, I can walk, really." Her voice is starting to edge with panic. _He is not loosening his grip. He seems to be holding me even tighter._ "It wouldn't do for me to be seen riding into the kingdom in the arms of the prince. I—"

"_Guinevere,_" he says, drawing her name out in a way that makes her snap her mouth closed while her insides turn to jelly.

"I can see your ankle swelling already," he nods in the direction of the injury. _Not that I'm looking at those lovely ankles, mind._ "I'll be taking you straight to our court physician."

"Really, I'll be—"

"Stop arguing with me," he says, leaning down, speaking the words quietly in her ear, more a caress than a command. It is taking all his might not to silence those lips with a kiss. _Those full, succulent lips…_

"Sorry. My lord. I shouldn't argue, you're right." _Why is this prince treating me like I'm a Lady? Why am I letting myself be affected this way by him? He's the prince. Snap out of it, Gwen!_

"Arthur."

"Sire?"

"_Arthur._"

"Oh."

They are just outside the walls to the lower town, and Arthur stops the horse. Neither of them have spoken, each struggling with the proximity of the other, the awkwardness of their hopeless attraction.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, turning to look at him, her face inches from his. _Is it the weather making me warm or is it him?_

"I… I just know that soon I'll have to let you down from this horse and out of my arms," Arthur croaks, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I don't think I'm ready to do that yet." His eyes search hers, longing, hoping for some sign that his attraction to her is returned.

Her lips part and his eyes drop to them unbidden before he wills them back to gaze into the warm depths of her eyes. He swallows hard, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

"Arthur…" she breathes, her own eyes drifting to his lips. _He has unusually full lips for a man, yet they do not detract from his masculinity at all._

"Forgive me, Guinevere," he whispers as he leans his head forward mere inches, connecting his lips with hers, softly, tentative, testing.

She yields under his lips, a small whimper escaping from the back of her throat. Her arm tightens around his neck. His arm tightens around her waist. Her other hand drifts to his chest, gripping his white linen shirt. His other hand comes up to cup the back of her head, holding it, supporting it as he deepens this kiss, coaxing her lips apart beneath his.

Gwen is melting in his arms, soft and pliable as she feels his tongue slide between her lips, warm and wet. When she meets it with her own, he thinks he's died and gone to heaven.

"Oh…" he breaks away for a split second, then returns, unable to help himself. She kisses him back as fervently as he, forgetting decorum, station, and virtue. _Virtue be damned, he is delicious forbidden fruit. He is intoxicating, magical… why am I still thinking?_

He leans over her, pressing her back against the…

Horse's neck.

_Oh yes. We're on a horse._ Vaguely he remembers where they are; who they are. He sweeps his tongue through the soft interiors of her mouth one last time, nibbles at her lower lip briefly, and then reluctantly pulls away, breathing heavily.

Her eyes are closed, luscious lips still parted. _So beautiful._ Slowly she opens her eyes and looks at him, searching his face.

"Guinevere, I…"

"Don't." She raises her fingers to his lips. "You don't need to say anything."

He wraps his hand around hers, kissing the fingers against his lips.

"I will treasure this moment in my heart always, Arthur," she says quietly.

"The memory of your lips will haunt my dreams, Guinevere," he says, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

She looks down, blushing most attractively, and he almost kisses her again.

He finds the reins again and flicks them once, prompting the horse forward again.

"Welcome to Camelot," he whispers into her ear as they ride through the gates.

**A/N: We will be posting musical "enhancement" or "inspiration" with each chapter. Links to YouTube videos (where applicable) will be given on request, just ask me and I'll PM them to you. Next is Anastasia-G's turn! We are having an immense amount of fun, so we hope you all enjoy.**

**Suggested music with this chapter: "I Know You (Part III)" by Morphine.**


	2. Kashmir

**Valley of Kashmir, Northern India, some 200 years before the reign of Elizabeth I**

_"It began as a teardrop in Babylon. Where the sunlight came from Astarte, shameless goddess of the fecund feminine. The boteh. Stylized rendition of the date-palm shoot, tree of life, fertility symbol... Some historians claim it travelled to Mughal courts from Victorian England as the foliaged shape of a herbal. But a legend in Kashmir calls it the footprint of the goddess Parvati. As she ran through the Himalayas at the dawn of time."_  
Shailja Patel 'How Ambi Became Paisely'

The long journey across the Arabian Peninsula and down through the mountains was redeemed at last, and Arthur stood surveying the emerald valley with satisfaction. Soft mists drifted across the plain like veils of finest muslin, and the sunlight was no longer harsh gold but soft and clear as water.

_That imitation muslin Cendred's been peddling will be worth less than dung when I get these Kashmiri wares on the market._

"Come on, Myriddin!" he called to his clerk, a slender man overburdened with cases of clothes and paperwork and carefully hidden gold. Myriddin huffed and puffed behind him, complaining as usual that leaving his little village in Wales to travel the merchant routes with Arthur was the most regrettable mistake imaginable.

Too cheerful to mind Myriddin's complains, he clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder as they made their way down the valley.

xxx

Toma, one of the chief loom-makers, welcomed them gladly. A widower with two children, his skill with wood and his daughter's prowess with weaving had seen them comfortably settled in their valley home. But when Arthur ventured to ask about price and quality, Toma shook his head, "You'll have to talk to my daughter about that. She's adamant about not selling to merchants, says such trade cheapens the art," he shrugged, "The neighbors trade us enough of what we need. Ah, Guanhumara, there you are."

Arthur looked up as the petite and graceful figure of Toma's daughter came into view. His breath caught in his throat. Vaguely he felt Myriddin nudge him, "Stop staring, you clotpole."

All the lands and seas he'd traversed, no woman had captivated him so at first glance. Curls delicate as kisses escaped from her braid to brush the tantalizingly honeyed skin, and he could discern the outline of lush, elegant curves beneath the soft folds of her yellow sari. The swell of her breasts, tapering to a waist his hands could easily engulf, was barely concealed beneath the modestly draped _pallu._

"Pleasure to meet you, I am Arthur-,"

" -I know who you are, and the answer is no."

Her Latin was precise and clipped, and eyes dark as the mountain lakes of Nepa met his unwaveringly.

Guanhumara was caught off-guard by the presence of this merchant, and not in the ways she had expected. His carelessly masculine presence, the chiseled jawline her fingers longed impulsively to touch and eyes that smouldered with a blue fire, like the gods had contained lightning in glass... _Gather yourself, Gwen!_ _He is a merchant, a thief like all the others._

Myriddin was amused at the exchange; Arthur was used to getting his way, and where his fighting skills or his father's gold failed, his good looks usually worked in his favor. But this maiden from the mountains seemed bent on defiance.

Arthur tried again, his thoughts all askew with imagining what her mouth would taste like, "Perhaps we should discuss this. I'm willing to pay generously... whatever you ask, I-,"

Guanhumara turned to Toma instead, speaking to her father now in fluent Punjabi. Arthur could only make out snatches, but he discerned enough to know things were not looking favorable. With a brief nod Guanhumara excused herself, and the end of her sari flickered like a bird-wing in flight as she hurried out of the room.

Toma sighed, "I'm sorry, Arthur. If you would like to stay a few days, we could try and convince her."

"Are you sure we won't be intruding?"

Toma nodded, "I'm sure. Give Gwen some time, she'll come around."

xxx

The weaving room was Guanhumara'a favorite place in the world. A large airy space with windows through which the soft mountain air carried the scent of rain and green leaves, it housed two large looms in the center, while the walls were hung with the cloth she made. She felt inspired today, and found herself reaching for the blue threads as she started setting the loom. Blue like the water hyacinths in the small pools at the feet of the mountains, like the glimpse of a new sky after the monsoon, _like his eyes_.

She shook her head to clear the image. This merchant, Arthur, was unlike any she had met before. Since she had rejected his offer, he had stayed on with Myriddin, engaged in many long conversations with her father, eager to learn all he could about the fertile valleys of the North. Toma clearly liked and trusted him, which confused Gwen even more. She wanted to dislike him as she disliked the merchant class, their avaricious greed that insisted on a price for everything, but Arthur seemed - she hated to admit it - different. He was courteous and well-spoken, but most disconcerting of all, when they were in a room together his eyes would brush her like a caress, and Guanhumara would feel herself grow warm and cold all at once, and at night her wilful body throbbed with a longing she dare not name.

Gwen jumped as the sound of footsteps broke into her reverie.

"Hello, am I interrupting?" it was Arthur, disconcertingly enough. She tried not to appreciate how the soft grey cotton shirt skimmed his powerful chest and shoulders.

"Not at all, I was just about to start working on something," she kept her voice deliberately light, casual.

"Do you mind if I -," he sucked in a breath as the cloths hung on the wall came into view, "Did you make all these?"

Pleased as any artist to see her craft admired, Gwen joined him by the tapestries. The _ambi_design was her favorite, a combined legacy of Kashmir's Sufis mystics and the goddess stories of her Hindu ancestors.

Arthur could not believe the exquisite colors and seamless designs before him, purple and turquoise and lush magenta, green and gold and silver like rice paddies in the run, grey and white like clouds, and through it all the strange and beautiful shape swimming whose like he had never seen before.

"It's a design we call _ambi _," Gwen explained, "It comes from the word for 'mango,' see how it's like half a sliced one...?" her voice trailed off when she realized how close their hands were on the tapestry. Their eyes met and suddenly that breezy room felt warm and close. Arthur was drowning in her nearness, he wanted to kiss each delectable freckle on her cheeks, then make his way to her mouth...

"It's beautiful, like you," he managed. Gwen felt her heart rush at the husky tone of his voice. Impulsively she brushed a strand of blond hair off his forehead, lost in the sapphire depths of his eyes.

"I could count the shades of blue in your eyes," she whispered, "I could weave a thousand tapestries and still not capture them...,"

_What am I saying? What am I doing?_

Confused, she drew her hand back and turned away, breaking the spell. She felt cold suddenly.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Guinevere..,"

She looked up at this new rendition of her name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue far more than she should.

"You have a gift that should not remain hidden here. I could make your work the toast of kings in courts across the seas. You would have enough gold to-,"

"-gold?" she asked. and Arthur knew he'd said the wrong thing. She was looking at him sadly, and he wanted to swallow his words. _Fool.  
_  
"Is gold all that matters to you?" she questioned softly.

And she slipped out of the room, leaving Arthur in the silence of unspoken words.

xxx

The rains fell soft and caressing like tears when Arthur stepped out, tired of being indoors. Guinevere had barely spoken to him the last few days, and even Myriddin had suggested they try their luck elsewhere. The rain felt cleansing on his face, and he opened his mouth, drinking the cool clear water that he could swear still tasted of the high, cold peaks from whence they originated.

Arthur stopped walking when he saw her there. Guanhumara. Guinevere. The mountain girl with the hands of a goddess.

She was holding her arms up the sky, letting the rain worship her beautiful form. The blue sari she wore was damp and soft as clouds around her, and her dark hair streamed loose down her back.

Arthur swallowed. _God why can't I get her out of my head?_

She heard him approach and turned, her expression surprised_, "_Arthur..."

Droplets of rain clung to her eyelashes, glistened on her cheeks, hung delicate as jewels from the curls of her hair.

Something stirred in him then, a long-sought realization, and like a gold thread between them it drew him closer to her.

Guanhumara felt her head swim at his nearness. Only damp cloth separated their naked skin, and she shivered with sudden desire.

Arthur brushed away a damp tendril of her hair, with such tenderness that it stole her breath, his thumb lingering on her cheek before brushing lightly across her mouth as her eyes drifted closed.

"Was your design, the _ambi_, inspired by the raindrops as well as the mango?" his whispered breath caressed her ear, and her eyes opened, but she didn't move away.

"Yes," she said softly, "The raindrops, the tears, the mangoes... and look," she gestured to where her delicate foot had left an imprint on the damp grass, and the form reminded him instantly of the _ambi_.

Her graceful fingers played with the hair at his nape, sending currents of pleasure down his spine. Arthur groaned softly, leaning towards her mouth.

"Would you price the _ambi _still?" she murmured, her eyes caught in his, "Could you price the rivers, the rains that feed the fruit trees?" Gwen took his hand in hers, and placed it over her left breast. Arthur swallowed at the feel of the firm and succulent flesh, and her own sudden breath told him she wasn't immune to his touch.

"Could you price my heart?" she put her other hand on his chest to where his own heart thumped at her touch, "Could you price yours?" her whisper was barely above a breath.

When their lips met Arthur felt like a starved man granted a sweet drink from mountain streams. The kiss was soft as first, gentle as the asking rain.

He tasted of sunlight and cloves and spices she had only dreamed of. Gwen felt his large hands slip down her shoulders to rest on her hips, pulling her in closer, and she moaned softly as he deepened the kiss, exploring and tasting her mouth, teasing her lower lip with his teeth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, crushing her breasts to his chest, wanting to draw him into her, gasping when she felt the hard evidence of his desire against her thigh.

They crumpled to the ground, and Arthur rained soft kisses down her neck, sucking on her earlobe, ghosting a breath over one breast before lightly flicking his tongue across the rain-soaked cloth over the taut nipple. He was a rewarded with a throaty sigh from her lips, and Guanhumara dug her fingers into the damp grass as he continued his ministrations, taking her nipple slow into his mouth, rolling, teasing, sucking until desire lanced through her most secret parts, hot and damp.  
_  
God she's beautiful. I could spend an eternity simply pleasuring her, hearing her call out my name._

"Arthur," she gasped when his mouth trailed a path of warm kisses down her belly, brushing butterfly strokes with his tongue across her lower abdomen so that her womb tightened with unbearable pleasure.

_More. I want more of him. I'll never have enough._

Arthur drew himself up to meet her eyes, and the sight of her beautiful, rain-diamonded face, her lips parted, almost undid him.

"I was meant to come here, I know that now," he whispered, running the tips of his fingers reverently down her face, "I was _meant_to find you here, Guanhumara, Guinevere."

She smiled lightly and placed her hand once more over his heart, thinking of how the _ambi_shape had danced through her dreams. The footstep of a goddess, she once thought. But it was more.

The shape of their beating hearts.

*****I owe much of the inspiration for this chapter to Shailja Patel and her incredible one-woman show 'Migritude'. The music I chose for this particular incarnation of ARWEN was "Ishq Bina" from the Bollywood movie 'Taal'. Props to kbrand5333 my amazing co-author for exchanging excited emails with me when we're both supposed to be working ;) *****


	3. Queen Elizabeth's court

**There is a lot of Spanish in this one. The translations are at the end, in the same order in which they appear in the body of the text. I had to use a lot of Internet help for the Spanish (I only had 2 years in high school, which was forever ago), so if there are any fluent or native Spanish-speakers out there, I WELCOME corrections! **

**The court of Queen Elizabeth I, 1565**

_Another rose. That's five now,_ Lady Guinevere, lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth I, thinks as she picks up the deep red rose and its accompanying note.

She closes the door to her chambers and places the rose with its companions in a vase on her table. She opens the note.

_Mi corazón latía para sólo usted, mi reyna._

Folding the note with a frown, she sets it with the others. _I wish I knew what he was writing in all these notes._

She knows the source of the roses. Lord Merlín's bodyguard, Arturo. The lord is visiting from Spain. He is wise and kind, but frail, having suffered much illness as a child, so he travels with a personal bodyguard to protect both him and his sizeable wealth.

_Yes, he's handsome,_ she thinks, leaning forward to smell the ever-increasing bouquet. _All right, he's more than handsome. He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life. And when he looked at me in the queen's receiving chamber, oh God, it was like his eyes were hands caressing my naked body._ She grows warm at the memory and the thought of his hands doing just that.

She showed them to their rooms late yesterday, and since then Arturo has been sending her roses, each with a note hand-written. In Spanish.

_He doesn't speak English. I don't speak Spanish. Yet he is unrelenting._

Guinevere goes to her dressing table and withdraws the notes, studying them once again in the hopes that she can make sense out of the foreign words very neatly written by his hand. _His large, broad hands, strong and rough with their long, tapered fingers…_ she finds herself thinking about his hands again, stroking her cheek, her neck, lower…

Shaking her head to clear it, she looks down at the parchments.

_Una hermosa rosa para una hermosa rosa. -A._

_Durante mucho tiempo fui a tocar su piel hermosa._

_Usted rondan mis sueños._

_Tus ojos arden en mi alma._

_Mi corazón latía para sólo usted, mi reina._

She frowns again. _God, I wish I knew Spanish!_ She can guess at some of the words. 'Rosa' obviously means rose, and 'hermosa' seems to be appearing a lot as well, though its meaning is a mystery. 'Corazón' is heart, she knows that one. Declarations of love. Or perhaps lust.

There is a knock at her door. _Not another rose, please, I cannot take this much longer. He's already got me flustered to the point of distraction._ She goes to the door and opens it. It is only Kate, the queen's maid.

"Lady Guinevere, her majesty wishes your company," she says, curtseying.

"Of course. One moment," Guinevere says, hurrying back to the dressing table to stow the notes away.

She gives the roses one last look before leaving her chambers.

Guinevere walks the corridors to the queen's sitting room, wondering if there is a point to her having been summoned this time. _Probably not. She's most likely just bored again._

She rounds the corner, lost in her thoughts, and bumps into a broad, firm chest.

"Oh! Excuse me," she exclaims, bringing her hands up reflexively, grabbing onto a leather vest.

Guinevere feels a pair of hands come around her waist to support her.

"Perdóneme, cariño," a deep voice softly says.

Arturo.

Flustered, she tries to step back, her heart thumping so loudly she is certain he can hear it. He holds fast, not willing to release her. She may as well be stepping back into a wall, yet he holds her effortlessly, the warmth from his hands burning through the layers of her clothing.

"Um…" she starts, not knowing what to say. _He can't understand me anyway._

"Shh, amorcita," he quiets her, lifting one hand to her chin so that he can tilt her face up to his.

_Is he going to kiss me here in this corridor?_

Arturo only gazes down at her, his curious blue-grey eyes scalding her flesh as he studies her, memorizing the exact shade of brown in her almond-shaped eyes, memorizing the full lushness of her lips, memorizing every tiny freckle, memorizing each mahogany curl that cascades around her lovely face.

"Tu belleza me hace débil," he whispers, his hand softly caressing her cheek.

"Thank you?" she says quietly, eyes questioning. _I cannot think straight when he is this close,_ she thinks. He smells of the leather vest and boots he is wearing and something else, something… sweet. _Cinnamon._

He chuckles warmly at her, and his laugh makes her knees go weak.

"Guenevéra," he speaks his version of her name, just a breath, and she nearly falls to the floor.

He still holds her, supporting her for just a few moments while she attempts to recover her sanity. "Thank you for the roses," she says quietly, wanting to look away but finding her eyes glued to his. "Um, gracias, for the… rosas?" she tries.

He smiles, understanding. "De nada, cariño," he answers, slowly relaxing his grip on her. "Hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar, mi reina," he whispers, the hand at her cheek trailing down and away as he steps back from her, allowing her to pass.

_Oh, God, he is too seductive, too charming._

xxx

Dinner that evening is agony. Guinevere feels Arturo's eyes on her the entire time, and it makes her uneasy and clumsy. She spills her wine. She drops her fork. She slips with her knife and almost cuts her finger. All the while Arturo watches her, his eyes twinkling with amusement at his effect on her.

_He knows he's making me flustered, and he's enjoying it._

Over dessert, Lord Merlín tells them of a food that Cristóbal Colón had brought back with him from the new world.

"It is called _chocolatl,_ and it is the most amazing thing, your highness. It is… ah," he searches for the correct word, "painstaking to make, but the results are quite worthwhile."

"What is it?" the queen is intrigued.

Guinevere lifts a small cake to her lips and takes a bite, her tongue flicking out briefly to lick an errant spot of icing from her upper lip. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Arturo take a deep breath and shift uncomfortably in his seat. She hides her smile behind her goblet. _So I can unravel him as well, I see._

"It is a beverage, your highness. Quite… bitter, actually. But we have discovered that with the addition of azúcar… sugar… it becomes very delicious. No. ¿Cómo se dice? Decadent. Sí. That is the correct word." He nods to himself.

"Sounds very interesting. I should like to try this drink," the queen says.

"Perhaps I will bring some with on my next visit," he hints, a small smile crossing his boyish face.

"Do promise me, Lord Merlín, or I shall become quite unhappy," she teases.

"We cannot have La Elisabeta Reina unhappy," he promises.

_Reina? Mi reina? Was Arturo calling me his queen?_ Guinevere thinks, her eyes turning to the handsome bodyguard across the room. He sees the realization in her eyes and nods very slightly, his eyes burning fire into her heart, a fire that spreads down into her belly. _No, lower._ She takes another bite of her dessert, pondering him and his intentions.

xxx

After dinner, Guinevere made some hasty excuses, mumbling something vague about a headache, and hurried back to her rooms, both eager and reluctant to be away from Arturo's smoldering scrutiny.

There was another rose waiting in her room, with another note.

_Se mío esta noche, amorcito._

Guinevere is no innocent. She had spent the previous summer dallying with a visiting duke from France, His Grace Sir Lancelot du Lac. Their affair had been pleasurable enough, but Lancelot with all his kisses and caresses certainly never reduced her to the quivering mass of desire that she becomes with just one look from Arturo. Then one night in late summer she finally gave in to the duke's advances and he took her virginity.

The next morning he was gone.

She lay in her bed, feigning an attempt at sleep. Arturo was too present in her mind, his scent still in her nostrils; the feel of his chest still under her palms. His eyes still scorching her skin. She turns over and into a ball, the ache within her a sweet agony. Once or twice her hand slips down between her legs, fingers searching to relieve the tension building there, but she manages to stop herself. She was frustrated, but stubborn.

"Bloody hell," Guinevere says aloud, flinging back the bedcovers and standing. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and grabs her dressing gown, throwing it on as she walks to her door. Her hand on the handle, she takes another deep breath and throws the door open.

Arturo is standing outside her door, barefoot, wearing a white shirt and black trousers. He has a rose in one hand and the other hand is a raised fist, poised to knock.

"Oh!" she gasps, jumping with surprise.

Arturo recovers more quickly, a slow smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. "Guenevéra," he says quietly, offering the rose.

She raises her trembling hand to take the flower from him. Her fingers brush against his as they close around the stem, and she gasps softly, the mere touch of his fingers against hers causing her skin to flush.

His smile turns just the tiniest bit devilish, and then his head turns sharply to the right. Footsteps. "Alguien viene," he whispers hurriedly, turning his face back towards hers, his eyes a question she isn't sure she can answer.

Guinevere decides. She grabs his shirt in her fist and pulls him inside her chambers, closing the door quietly behind him. And locking it.

She turns back to him and finds herself immediately in his arms, the rose in her hand crushed between them.

"Arturo," she breathes his name, and that is all the invitation he needs. His lips descend to hers, softly at first, as he revels in the luxuriousness of her lips. He pulls her closer, one arm wrapping about her small waist as the other pulls the ribbon holding her hair back and flings it to the floor to delve into the mass of her hair, supporting the back of her head as he leans into her, deepening the kiss.

Her hands creep up around his neck, the crushed and bent rose still clutched in her hand. The flower drops to the floor soundlessly as her fingers twine into his blonde hair, the strands silken against her skin.

A low moan comes from Arturo's throat, and he coaxes her lips apart beneath his, his tongue prodding, begging for entrance. Guinevere complies, sighing into him, her own tongue coming forward to meet his. Her willing response only inflames his desire further and the hand at her waist clutches at her still-open dressing gown, pulling at it, wanting to rid the barrier of the thick material between him and her body.

She releases his hair and brings her arms down so that he can shuck the robe from her, breaking the kiss momentarily, revealing creamy light-brown shoulders. _The color of chocolatl,_ he notes, bending down to rain kisses upon them, tasting her skin, trailing up her neck, muttering words of love in Spanish between his kisses.

"Oh, God, I don't know what you're saying, but it sounds… decadent," she gasps, the word fresh in her mind from dinner when Lord Merlín had searched for earlier. Her hands dive back into his hair as he nibbles gently at her earlobe.

_Chocolatl. Decadent._ Arturo connects the two words from dinner, putting them together in a way that his master never would have dreamed. He straightens up and looks Guinevere in the eyes and whispers, "Sí. Decadent." He pronounces the word carefully. Then he runs his fingers along her bare arm, up to her shoulder and back down again. "Chocolatl," he indicates her skin, kissing her once on the lips. "Decadente," he repeats, this time in Spanish.

Guinevere understands and giggles sweetly at his flattery, his likening her to something that is apparently so delicious that the Spaniards have been keeping it to themselves since the explorer returned with it.

He lifts her into his arms suddenly, and turns, scanning the room. "¿Dónde está?" he looks around. "Ah," he spies the bed off in a dark corner and strides purposefully toward it, carrying her to the large soft bed she had only just recently abandoned.

Arturo sets her down on the bed as if she were a precious thing, breakable. He stares down at her a minute longer, then he whips his white shirt over his head in one fluid motion before dropping gently down over her on the bed.

"Mi amor," he whispers against her lips before capturing them again, pressing against them forcefully, plunging his tongue into her mouth, where she sucks it greedily in, pressing back with her own.

She reaches up with her hands, aching to touch the beautiful array of muscles of which she only caught the barest glimpse. She trails her fingers on his chest, feeling the texture of the hair there tickling her fingertips before growing bolder, more sure of herself, pressing her palms flat against his skin, sliding them around to clutch at his shoulders while he places wet, hungry kisses on her neck.

Vaguely she is aware of his hand sliding the strap to her chemise aside, following it with his lips as he slides it down her shoulder.

Her hands grow bolder, dropping to the waist of his trousers, pulling at the ties holding them closed. Arturo groans when she does this, a plaintive, "Sí…" escaping from his lips at her neck.

He moves to her other shoulder to drop the other strap and feather more kisses on her shoulders and is momentarily distracted as her hands succeed in opening his trousers.

Arturo sits back, pulling Guinevere up with him so she is sitting. He slides her chemise down, removing it from her body, his eyes drinking her in as he does so.

"Ay, dios mío," he whispers. "Mi belleza, mi corazón," he continues as he stares in awe at her naked form lying back on the bed, waiting for him, wanting him.

He removes his trousers, tossing them carelessly aside as he prowls up over her body, running his hands along the soft contours of her torso as he goes, making her moan with want.

"Arturo…" she says breathlessly, "touch me…"

No sooner had she spoken the words than his hand is covering her breast, his rough palm sweet torment against her erect nipple, and she cries out softly.

"Me toque," he rumbles, guiding her hand down, holding it gently as it glides down his chest and across his stomach before she rotates her wrist to grasp him softly in her hand, her small fingers closing around his stiff member.

"Ay... sí…" he groans, sliding one of his own hands down to touch her.

"Ay... sí…" she echoes unthinkingly, her head rolling on the pillow as his fingers slide against her moist warmth, driving her mad with the need of him.

Arturo leans down and kisses her again, sucking and nibbling her lips while her hand moves slowly along his length. His head is spinning as he kisses a path down to her breasts, taking one into his mouth, his tongue teasing the stiff nipple even harder.

"Arturo…" she gasps, "please. Por favor…"

"Te adoro," he whispers against her breasts as he moves fully over her, positioning himself at her waiting thighs. He places an ardent kiss on her lips as he enters her, smoothly and swiftly, and his kiss swallows the gasp of pleasure that wants to spring from Guinevere's lips.

He moves over her, within her, sliding in and out, his hands at her hips, holding her. He releases her hips and skims his hands up to hold her breasts, squeezing lightly, thumbs flicking across her nipples.

Guinevere writhes beneath him, meeting his thrusts with her hips, her hands grasping at the bedclothes as she gasps and pants, breathless and mindless.

He leans over her and steals a series of kisses, not able to get enough of her lips. She reaches up and holds his neck, keeping his face close to her, wanting his proximity. Needing his proximity.

"More…" she breathes. _How do I tell him what I want?_

He looks at her. "¿Más?" he asks, hoping he's understood.

"Sí," she answers, and he increases his thrusts, moving faster, more forcefully. "Oh, sí!" she exclaims, arching her back, pressing her breasts into his chest.

Guinevere feels the building, her body tingling and quivering as it heads towards her climax, looming before her like a great hot sun threatening to burn her to ash. Arturo watches her, watches her face as her eyelids flutter and her lips part and her nostrils flare and beautiful sweet cries come forth from her throat.

"Oh! Yes… oh…" she cries out, her body jerking beneath his as the fire spreads from her groin to the tips of her fingers and toes in a great swell, and her hands grip his broad shoulders, her head tossing to the side.

Arturo's release follows immediately. Watching her unravel beneath him has been his undoing as well and he comes with a mighty growl and thrust, pushing deep within her, his entire body a coiled spring as his manhood pulses inside her.

xxx

"Vuelve a España conmigo," he says as he holds her in his arms, caressing her back.

"Spain?" she asks, turning to look up at him.

"Sí," he nods.

"With… you?"

"Conmigo," he points to his own chest, nodding.

She bites her lower lip. _Is he serious?_

"Mi corazón es tuyo, si ustedes tendrán que."

She furrows her brow. _Something about his heart._

He sits up, looking at her intensely. "Mi," he says, pointing to himself. She nods. "Corazón," he takes her hand and places it over his heart. "Es tuyo," he motions with his hands as if he is giving her something.

"Oh," Guinevere says, breathing heavily, her eyes wide. Her hand is still resting on his heart, and she can feel it pounding, waiting for her answer.

_Is this insanity? He basically just told me he loves me. Do I run away to Spain with him? Do I love him? How do I know that it's not purely just a physical attraction?_

Guinevere closes her eyes, her hand still on his chest. When she opens them, he is still gazing intently at her. She removes her hand and picks up his, placing it over her heart. "My heart," she says, patting the back of his hand lightly, "is yours." She touches her finger to his chest.

She hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath until he starts breathing again. Arturo suddenly pulls her into his arms, kissing her fiercely, possessively. Now that he has her, he is never letting her go.

She pulls back gently, cuddling into his arms as he lays them back down onto her bed. _Yes. I do love him._

"What of Lord Merlín?" she asks suddenly. _I would feel terrible if he meant to abandon his master for me. The lord needs him._

Arturo smiles warmly, understanding what she is asking. "No será una problema," he says with a wave of his hand.

_I understood that one,_ she thinks, but she isn't convinced, so she gives him a puzzled look.

"Venir," he says, climbing from the bed and pulling his trousers on. He hands her the chemise, indicating that she should dress.

"Where are we going?" she asks, slipping it on. He puts his shirt on and hands her the dressing gown.

"Vamos a ver el jefe."

xxx

"Arturo? ¿Es algo malo?" Lord Merlín asks, opening the door to his chambers. Then he notices Arturo's arm wrapped protectively around Guinevere's shoulders. "Aha." He stands aside and lets the couple in.

"Jefe, quiero Guenevéra para volver a España con nosotros."

"He wants you to come to Spain," Merlín translates.

"I figured that much out, yes," she nods.

"Is this what you want as well, Guinevere?"

She looks at Arturo. Her pulse quickens. Her loins ache. _Truly I cannot picture myself apart from him. The thought of being here alone, without his presence, leaves me bereft._ "Yes," she nods, turning back to the lord. She reaches for Arturo's hand.

"No quiero causar ua problema para ella, la Elisabeta Reina, o nuestros dos países," Arturo says, his voice sincere.

"He doesn't want to make trouble for you or our kingdoms by taking you away."

She nods. "The queen will understand. She has other ladies-in-waiting."

Merlín relays this to Arturo, who smiles.

"You do know we were planning on leaving in the morning, do you not?" Merlín asks her.

"No, I was unaware."

"Can you be ready?"

"Ella no necesita traer nada. Le dare todo lo que desea."

Merlín sighs. "¿Realmente quiere que le cuente que?"

"Sí," he nods.

"Ella necesitará algunas prendas de vestir, obviamente," Merlín reminds him.

Arturo grins wickedly and Merlín rolls his eyes. "Ay, Díos," he says to the ceiling. "Guienvere, if you can be ready by first light, I would be happy to have you accompany us back to Spain. You only need pack some articles of clothing and anything you hold most dear. Arturo assures me that he will give you anything else you desire."

"Thank you, Lord Merlín," she says softly.

"¿Usted está seguro de esto, Arturo? Usted apenas han cumplido su." Merlín says to his bodyguard.

"Sí, Jefe. Yo nunca he tenida más certeza de nada."

"What is he saying?" she asks.

"Sorry, my lady, I was simply asking him if he was certain that this is what he wants. I apologize if this offends you, but he is my friend as well as my protector."

She nods, having suspected this about their relationship. "And?"

"He says he has never been more certain about anything. And what of you, if I may ask?"

"Yes. I… I do not want to be apart from him."

Merlín relays this to Arturo, who smiles broadly and pulls Guinevere into his arms again, kissing her passionately, boldly doing so right in front of his master.

Merlín tactfully looks away, smiling knowingly to himself. _Good._

xxxxxx

Spanish phrases, in order spoken:

My heart beats only for you, my queen.

A beautiful rose for a beautiful rose.

I long to touch your beautiful skin.

You haunt my dreams.

Your eyes burn into my soul.

My heart beats only for you, my queen.

Pardon me, sweetheart.

Your beauty makes me weak.

You're welcome, sweetheart.

Until we meet again, my queen.

How do you say it?

Be mine tonight, my love.

Someone is coming.

Where is it?

My love.

Oh, my God.

My beauty, my heart.

Touch me.

I adore you.

Come back to Spain with me.

My heart is yours, if you will have it.

It will not be a problem.

Come.

We are going to see the boss.

Is something wrong?

I want Guinevere to return to Spain with us.

I do not wish to cause a problem for her, Queen Elizabeth, or our two countries.

She does not need to bring anything. I will give her anything she desires.

Do you really want me to tell her that?

She will need some clothing, obviously.

Oh, God.

You are sure about this, Arthur? You have only just met her.

I have never been more certain of anything.

**This chapter's song is "Cuando calienta el sol." It is a standard, done by many different artists. I recommend Nancy Sinatra's version, as her interpretation most closely evokes the longing I was trying to convey between Arturo and Guinevere.**


	4. Port Royal

**Port Royal, Jamaica, circa 1690**

"Put me down you….you brute!"

"Sorry miss," the voice belonging to the hulking body over whose shoulder Guinevere was unceremoniously flung sounded almost apologetic, "Captain's orders. We're taking you on board."

_On board?_

She cursed the blindfold over her eyes. If she wasn't a well-bred young woman, schooled in elegance and manners as befits the niece of Commodore Uther, Gwen would have cursed out loud.

She could hear men shouting, and the unmistakeable clang of metal. Maybe her Uncle's men would succeed. Maybe she would never see this accursed ship.

But her hopes were unfounded. The Commodore's men never even managed to unbalance the giant who carried her, and she could soon smell sea-water and the unmistakeable stale salt odour of ship wood.

There was the deafening blast of canons, and more yelling and curses. She realized with a sinking heart that they were leaving the bay, and that the soldiers were too few and their vessels unprepared to prevent them, having spent the entire day celebrating at the ball for Commodore Uther's birthday.

Whoever these kidnappers were, they knew what they were doing.

Gwen was set on her feet at last, and she struggled to regain her balance before they removed the blindfold from her. Blinking, she took in her surroundings. She was on board a vast ship, surrounded by curiously watching men.

"Here she is, Captain," someone announced, and she watched as another man walked over. He was tall, broad of shoulder, a dark blue longjacket worn casually over a white shirt and boots that only emphasized his long powerful legs.

"Do you know who I am?" he drawled, moving to stand in front of her.

In the moonlight his blond hair was as a cap of silver, some of it falling carelessly across his forehead. Deep-blue eyes watched her sardonically in a face of such chiselled masculine perfection that she found herself blushing.

Then she noticed the ornate handle of the rapier at his hip, and the full moon clearly outlined the flag streaming from the topmast. _Pirates._

Guinevere De Grace, niece and adopted daughter to Commodore Uther, drew herself up boldly, "I know you're a coward who sends brutes to snatch women from their homes."

For a moment he was taken aback. When he had planned to kidnap the Commodore's ward, he had expected her to be a scared and fussy little princess, not this scintillating and damnably beautiful creature whose simmering dark eyes made him want to carry her off to his bed and get to know her better.

Arthur laughed, "A brute? Percy? Why he couldn't hurt a fly," he gestured behind at her and Gwen saw a tall, massively built man with nevertheless a surprisingly gentle pair of blue-grey eyes. He shrugged apologetically at her and the other men joined in the laughter.

Guinevere would not be laughed at. Not by these rapscallion men and their impudent Captain whose white shirt hinted far too indecently at a powerful and sculpted physique.

"Brute or not, you're cowards, all of you!" she declared, "When my Uncle hears of this-,"

"-he will pay us handsomely," the Captain casually touched a loose curl of her hair, his eyes wandering to her lips. Suddenly her corset felt tighter as her breasts heaved with quickening breath. His fingertips touched her cheek lightly, and he saw his nostrils flare slightly when her breasts swelled over the low-cut ball-gown she was wearing, "Although perhaps there are some things more desirable than gold…certainly more beautiful…"

Gwen swallowed, temporarily caught under his spell. The men at Port Royal who danced with her and poured her wine and plucked gardenia blossoms for her in the moonlight had never looked at her quite like this, nor had she ever felt her skin grow warm with a curious pleasure when she met their gaze.

_It's all a trick Gwen! Don't be fooled. You're the Commodore's niece!_

"The word of a pirate is worth less than dirt," she bit out, "What is your name, pray? If I'm to be your captive I demand to know who you are. That is, if you at least have enough honor to name yourself."

_Your captive._

She probably didn't intend for that to sound so… deliciously illicit, he mused. _This should be interesting._

"Captain Arthur Pendragon, at your service," his infuriatingly full lips quirked in a grin as he swept off his hat in an elaborate bow.

"Arthur Pendragon?" she voiced incredulously,

"The same, Guinevere."

She felt an uncomfortably sweet tingle low in her belly at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue.

Arthur Pendragon.

Her Uncle's sworn enemy. The elusive Silver Sword of the high seas. Prince of pirates.

xxx

The knocking startled her from her spot by the window. Guinevere looked up as Captain Arthur stepped in quietly.

She stood up, immediately assuming the mantle of cold dignity she used around him.

He was hatless, and the sun-bleached hair fell careless as always across his temples. Guinevere felt again that disconcerting urge to brush the strands away with her fingers, trace them over those chiselled cheekbones…

"How are you, Miss De Grace?"

"As fine as I can be." She was actually surprised at her treatment. A week since they had left Port Royal and not a single heinous tale recounted about pirates had proven true. Yes they drank and swore, but so did the Commodore's men. None of them had accosted her, in fact they had brought her food, allowed her to walk on deck, and even furnished her with spare clothes (although she didn't want to imagine how the dashing Captain Arthur came to be in possession of discarded gowns).

Arthur strolled up, hands clasped behind his back. He had received word that morning from the Commodore: he was willing to pay the full ransom, provided his ward was returned safely. _Why am I hesitating then?_

He hated to admit it, but he would miss her presence on the ship. When he took to the seas as a pirate, he'd forsworn the aristocracy with their supercilious ways. But this woman, Guinevere, was different. It wasn't just her beauty that taunted him with empty desire at nights when he lay sleepless, imagining the feel of her cinnamon skin and luscious mouth. It was what he sensed underneath her prim exterior: a kindred spirit, proud and courageous, a smouldering fire.

"Was there something else, Captain?" she asked softly.

Guinevere felt suddenly flustered with him so close, alone with her in a small cabin. His scent, all musk and sweat and leather, made her feel faint.

"No sharp words?" he quirked an eyebrow, sapphire eyes twinkling, "Why Miss De Grace, I do believe you've grown fond of me."

Her face flushed with anger, "I could sooner grow fond of the barnacles that grow on sunken ships."

He laughed again, which spurred her anger, not the least because of how well laughter suited his already handsome face, "Come now, surely we're better company than those tight-laced soldiers the Commodore hangs around with?"

"Those tight-laced soldiers are three times the men you could ever hope to be."

"Is that so?" he stepped closer, eyes on her lips.

"It's true and plain as day," she rushed on, noticing that her voice sounded annoyingly breathy, "You may like to flatter yourself that I'm your guest, but I'm nothing more than a prisoner, one you intend to barter for gold like I'm a box of treasure you've plundered on your campaigns. Furthermore - ," her words were cut off by the sudden warmth of his lips on hers, overwhelming in their fullness and ardour. He tasted of rich spiced wine, and his mouth coaxed hers easily, deepening the kiss so that her eyes started to flutter close.

Shocked at her own response, Guinevere tore her lips away, administering a smart slap to his face. _How dare he!_ He looked on her for a moment, smiling slightly as he touched the side of his face, eyes caressing her lazily.

_To hell with it. _Throwing decorum to the wind, Guinevere grasped the lapels of his coat and pulled his mouth down on hers. If he was surprised he recovered quickly, a strong arm coming around her while his other hand tangled in her loose streaming curls, holding her head in place while his mouth ravished hers expertly and feverishly. His tongue parted her lips, running along the sensitive insides of her mouth and drawing forth a soft moan from her_._

All her years of carefully cultivated mannerisms fell away in his arms. The taste and scent of him felt right, at once familiar and dangerously exciting. Arthur's hands slid down her shoulders, making her shiver, before they rested lightly under the swell of her breasts. Guinevere could already feel her tightened nipples underneath the light corset, and she surged against his body, feeling him growl low in his throat.

Unable to resist, Arthur finally let his aching hands cup those delicious full breasts whose honeyed lushness had lanced his nights with furious lust. He was rewarded with a delectable moan from her, and when his thumbs brushed hardened peaks Guinevere felt her insides go molten, and there was a hot dampness between her thighs.

Arthur broke the kiss, looking down at her beautiful, flushed face. Her eyes were melted caramel, and her parted lips were swollen from his kisses. He continued his attentions to her breasts, watching her eyes go smoky with lust, and ground their hips together so she could feel him hard and ready.

"Guinevere," he whispered hoarsely against her silken throat, "Stop me now, before I forget myself completely."

But Guinevere had no intention of stopping. She felt drunk with desire, with the light-headed rush of knowing she could arouse his desire so easily, the proud pirate prince. His touch was like an awakening, and suddenly her life before this, that she had thought perfectly lovely, seemed tepid and dull. She felt hotly alive, as though feeling and experiencing her body for the first time.

Pulling away slowly, keeping her eyes on his, Guinevere sat down on the small bed and began to unlace her gown. Arthur's eyes went dark with lust and she shivered, tremulous and melting with excitement. With her other hand Guinevere slowly pulled up her skirt and light petticoat, parting her legs invitingly. She wore no stockings, and the creamy brown expanse of her skin was laid bare for him.

_Goddammit if she isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen._

Arthur approached her slowly, knowing already what he wanted to do. Bending, he kissed her hard and fierce, making her whimper, then softened the kiss until it was slow and delicious as melted sugar. Kneeling before her, his lips travelled hungrily down the column of her neck while his hands made swift work of her corset laces. When his mouth closed over the tight nipple she moaned deep in her throat, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably against the straining hardness in his trousers.

Travelling lower, he ghosted kisses over her thighs, making her gasp softly when he discarded the light cotton drawers. Guinevere felt her shock melt into sharp pleasure when his tongue flicked against the most intimate part of her.

"Arthur…" his name fell helpless from her lips when his hands slid under her rump and pulled her closer to him. Her head fell back as she surrendered to his mouth. She was wet and hot and shivering and helpless to do anything except thrust her hips forward.

Arthur smiled against her, laving her with his tongue while she keened and mewed and grew slippery with lust.

Guinevere could feel a heated pressure building up deep within her, ready to explode, when Arthur slid a slow finger inside her wetness, languid thrusts communicating what he wanted to do. He started moving his finger faster, hard and swift against her melting insides, while his tongue flicked butterfly strokes against the exquisitely tingling little mound nestled high in her folds. Gwen was losing herself completely, her moans deepening as she rolled her hips, edging closer to something she couldn't describe.

"Ohhh… Arthur…"

"Yes… oh yes, my love," he groaned against her, laving her long and slow with his tongue before quickening the pace again. When he sensed her climax approaching, Arthur slid another finger inside her while his thumb joined his tongue in feverishly stroking the nub of her pleasure.

The tightly-coiled sensations at her core unravelled all at once in rippling, white-hot pleasure, and she bucked against him, crying out her ecstasy while he hungrily lapped her hot juices. Waves and waves rolled through her, shuddering, and when Guinevere's eyes opened at last she felt that the world had changed, shifted on its axis, the colours around her saturated with new richness.

Breathless, she looked down into Arthur's eyes, their passion-drugged depths, and the thought of never seeing him again, never feeling this way, clenched her heart.

xxx

It's a tale that everyone except the Commdore loved to tell in Port Royal. How on a sunny day the pirate prince Arthur had returned Guinevere De Grace to her Uncle, while all of Port Royal stood watching. How as the pirate ship lifted anchor and began to drift away, Guinevere De Grace had suddenly broken loose from her Uncle, had run with her skirts lifted to the end of the pier, had leaped in started to swim. How the pirate prince had leaped in after her, gathering her to him amid the wet and billowing swirls of her gown. How one of his crew had thrown down a rope and pulled them back on board. How Arthur flung the gold coins of ransom back at the waiting crowd, how furious the Commodore had been when everyone, including his soldiers, sank into a mass frenzy of retrieving the gold. And how on the prow of the ship, Arthur Pendragon, the Silver Sword, kissed Guinevere De Grace for all to see, and his crew cheered, and the sun kindled into brilliance behind them.

****suggested music: 'Crusin'' by D'Angelo****


	5. The Old West

**The desert somewhere between Silver City, NM and Tombstone, AZ, 1880**

**kbrand5333**

"Well, I ain't no gentleman, and you sure as hell ain't no lady," U.S. Marshall Arthur Pendragon drawled slowly from his place under a sparse tree, trying to catch a little shade. "If you want a wash in that stream, you're gonna have to do it with me watchin' ya."

Gwen growled quietly in frustration. "A girl can't get any privacy?"

"Darlin', you gave up the right to privacy last night when I caught you climbing out of the window to the room I let you have in that inn," he answered coolly, only calling her "darlin'" to annoy her.

"Fine. You want an eyeful, lawdog, you'll get one," she huffed, turning her back on him to unbutton her shirt.

"Ain't interested," he mutters, idly cleaning his fingernails with the bowie knife he keeps strapped to his thigh.

"Oh, so you're one of _those_ kinds of men. I've heard about your type," she says over her shoulder.

He lifts his eyes to her, fixing her in his cool stare. "I simply meant that I ain't interested in _you._ Not that I gotta explain myself."

But Marshall Pendragon had to admit that he was a little interested. _Interested to see what she looks like under the dirt and the ill-fitting men's clothing._

He continued to work at his fingers, peeking out of the corner of his eye. Her shirt was off, but her back was to him. She glances over her shoulder once at him, and he quickly turns his attention back to his nails. As she bends to remove her trousers, he looks up just at the right – or wrong – time and ends up stabbing himself under the nail of his left index finger.

"Dammit!" he curses softly, bringing his finger to his mouth. He looks up. _Oh good. She didn't hear me,_ he thinks, seeing her emerge from beneath the surface of the water, smoothing her dark hair back, careful not to emerge too fully.

_Water does look inviting,_ he thinks, removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. The desert is unforgiving this time of year, scorching in the day and freezing at night. They happened across this stream and Arthur had foolishly asked if she wished to stop and clean up a bit. He wasn't expecting her to jump at the chance like a child in a general store with a fistful of pennies.

"If you're fixin' to come in here, Marshall, you stay clear away from me," she calls, seeing him walking forward.

"If you say so," he says, heading downstream a few yards. He pauses, looks back at her, and turns around, heading back upstream, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.

"Water better back that way?" Gwen asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep. It's upstream of you."

"I ain't any dirtier than you are!" she protests, throwing a rock at him and missing.

"I'd expect such a successful bank robber to have better aim than that," he shoots back at her, unperturbed.

"Give me your gun and I'll show you how good my aim is."

Ignoring her completely, he strips down and strides into the cool stream, completely unconcerned about her seeing him.

_Good Lord, the man has a body,_ Gwen thinks, noting his broad muscular shoulders and back leading down to a backside that she could really get a _grip_ on. She quickly turns to face away from him so he doesn't see the color rising to her cheeks.

"Hand me that soap," Arthur calls to her.

"I ain't done with it yet," she answers.

"It's _my_ soap."

"Yeah, and I ain't done with it."

_I could say the sky is blue and she'd argue that it's green._

Gwen hums to herself, taking her time running said bar of soap along her arms and shoulders, unconcerned. Suddenly she feels a strong hand grip her wrist, pulling it backwards.

"Hey!" she protests, feeling her whole body drift back and connect with something warm yet hard as rock.

_I forgot that she weighs almost nothing,_ Arthur manages to think in the split second before the tempting rounded backside he glimpsed earlier makes contact with his groin. He bites back a groan and plucks the soap from her hand.

She turns around to scowl at him, only to see him wading back away from her. _Bastard,_ she thinks, but cannot deny the fact that she is drawn to him, the image of his body flashing through her mind again, this time accompanied by the memory of the feel of him against her back. _At least physically. Better at least be only physically._

xxx

"We're going to have to camp here for the night," Arthur says, slowing his horse to a stop. Gwen sways in the saddle behind him, bumping into him. He can feel the weight of her breasts as they make contact with his back, acutely aware of her body since the stop at the stream.

"Oof," she says, irritated. "You don't have to tie my hands behind my back," she protests for the twentieth time that day.

"The hell I don't," he shoots back.

"Well, these ropes are digging into my skin."

"I have some iron handcuffs, if you'd prefer."

_Handcuffs I could get out of,_ she thinks, counting on him not knowing that her father is a blacksmith. "Actually I would."

"Ropes it is, then."

"Bastard."

"Pretty talk."

"Well, you said yourself that I ain't a lady. Just living up to your standard."

He swings down from the horse and reaches up, hoisting her down by slinging her over his shoulder.

"I may not be a lady, but I ain't a sack of potatoes either, Marshall," she says.

"You look like one to me, darlin'." He sets her on her feet and sees a pair of dark brown eyes full of rage.

"If that is a remark on the color of my skin, I will kill you where you stand, ropes or no ropes," she threatens.

"Farthest thing from my mind, actually. It wa'n't your coloring I was insulting, it was your looks," he quirks his head to the side and adds, "or maybe your personality. I haven't decided yet."

She moves to kick him and he takes a calm step sideways, avoiding her, still holding her arm. He pulls her to a rock and sits her on it. "Stay."

Arthur starts constructing a small fire from dried branches and brush he finds and some tinder he's brought. He struggles to light it; the match won't stay lit and the dried brush won't take. Gwen watches and laughs at him.

He sits back and glares at her. "I suppose you could do better?"

"I guarantee I can," she challenges. "You gotta untie me, though."

"No."

"Then no fire and we'll both freeze. You really think I'm stupid enough to run away into the desert at nightfall alone?"

"You were stupid enough to think you could rob banks and not get caught," he says, walking towards her.

"Took you a while to catch me," she shrugs.

"But I still did." He steps behind her and in moments her hands come free. She brings them around to the front, rotating her wrists and stretching her shoulders.

"That's damned uncomfortable," she comments, walking to their makeshift fire ring. Arthur follows.

She kneels next to the fire, taking a look. "You've got this set up all wrong," she mutters, and reaches in to rearrange his haphazard pile of sticks and brush into an orderly stack. "Match," she holds her hand out, palm-up, towards him, and he places a match on her hand. She takes it, and with a devilish look in her eye, reaches over and strikes the match against the gold star pinned to his chest.

"Hey!" he protests, grabbing the star and looking at it, scowling at the diagonal drag mark scarring the surface.

Gwen chuckles and cups the flame in her hand, setting it to the brush. It takes immediately, and she blows gently on it, encouraging it. Soon enough the flames are hearty enough to take one of the large logs Arthur had found nearby, and she drops it delicately on the flames.

Arthur just watches her. "What is that, some Cherokee trick?"

"I'm half Navajo, for your information, and yes. A little. Combination of that and just having had a lot of experience starting fires," she says, almost giving her father away. _Still hoping for those handcuffs instead of the ropes._

"Don't tell me you're an arsonist, too," he says.

"No. What's the point in burnin' something down when there's stuff inside you could take?" she asks, actually smiling at him.

_Is she joking with me?_ Arthur is starting to grow confused. He hasn't seen her smile before now, and it transforms her entire face. _She is actually quite lovely when she's not frowning at me._

"Good God, man, do they take away your sense of humor when they give you that star?" she asks, standing up again.

He stands quickly, in case she tries to bolt.

"Christ, you're jumpy. I ain't goin' anywhere, I _told_ you," she says pointedly, sitting back down on her rock.

"Just don't try anything funny. If I don't get you into Tombstone tomorrow, Marshall Earp will have my neck as well as yours."

"Still don't know why I couldn't have just stayed in Silver City," she shrugs, playing with a flat silver ring around her index finger.

"Earp wants you in _his_ jail in Tombstone. And Wyatt Earp does tend to get what he wants," Arthur says, unpacking blankets and pans from the saddlebags. He pulls out a packet of beef jerky, and Gwen makes a face.

"Ugh, not more of that dried shit," she complains.

"You have got a mouth, woman," he remarks. "But unless you reckon on killin' somethin' out here, it's what we've got. And I don't think there's anything all that edible out here," he says, looking around. All he sees is sagebrush and cacti, mesas in the distance glowing orange and red in the fading sunlight.

xxx

Gwen huddles in a blanket, growing ever colder. The sky is clear, and there are innumerable stars overhead, a half-moon providing faint light.

Dinner had passed peacefully enough, both eating silently, neither enjoying the fare. Arthur refused to admit that he was as sick of jerky as she was, and even sicker of beans, which he never really cared for in the first place.

"Pass me that canteen," he says.

She hands it to him, and their fingers brush as he takes it from her. _What the hell was that?_ Arthur thinks as sudden warmth grows under his collar. He glances at her, and she seems to be breathing slightly faster than she was before.

_Is she feeling this too?_

"'I would give all my fame for a pot of ale,'" she quotes as he drinks.

"What was that?"

"Shakespeare," she says casually, studying the dance and crack of the flames in front of her. "Henry V."

"So you're educated, then." Not a question.

"Highly, in fact. Boston."

"So… why? Why rob banks?"

She looks at him. "Not a lot of ways for a girl to make money. Any _real_ money. Unless I want to, oh, run a brothel or something. Which I don't."

"So it's for money."

"Basically," she says, pausing. He hands her the canteen. "Thank you." She takes a drink. "My mother is very ill, you see. And my father isn't getting any younger. He can't sell any more of our cattle or we'd starve. My brother took off for New York," she continues, idly fingering her silver ring again. "So I took matters into my own hands."

He stares at her. "Really?" he asks, interested now.

"No." A slow grin spreads across her face. "It's mainly boredom."

He actually laughs. A real laugh. Gwen is stunned. _He lights up when he smiles a real smile. He's actually quite handsome…_

"So your mother's not ill?"

"She's been dead for years. And we don't even have any cattle. My brother did run off to New York. Gave me this before he left," she slides the ring from her finger and holds it up.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "What does your father do, then?"

"Not telling."

"Hmm. Protecting him?"

"Yes."

"From whom?"

"Me. He doesn't need his good name sullied by my… activities."

"So your real name isn't Guinevere Smith, then."

"I prefer Gwen. But no, my last name ain't Smith."

_There's a good person in there somewhere,_ he thinks, still just watching her, watching how the firelight gives her skin a golden glow, the flames reflecting in the midnight pools of her eyes.

xxx

"What are you doing?" Gwen asks, as Arthur grabs her right hand. He fastens a handcuff around her wrist.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to run off in the night?"

"It's not the night that I'm worried about, it's the morning," he says, fastening the other cuff on his left wrist. "I don't trust you any farther than I could throw you."

She reaches over and gives his bicep a tentative squeeze. _Wow._ "I think you could probably throw me pretty far if properly motivated. I'm not very big," she says.

He gives her an irritated look to disguise the fact that the touch of her hand mixed with the compliment of his strength is giving him pause, not to mention a curious feeling in the pit of his stomach. _What is with me today? It's like I'm drunk and she's the whiskey._

They lay down to attempt to sleep atop a large wool blanket, each covered by their own separate blanket. Their cuffed hands are there between them, lying limply, awkwardly.

After a several minutes, Gwen sighs heavily. Then again.

"What's your problem now?" Arthur asks.

"I can't sleep like this."

"Like what? Handcuffed?"

"No. I'm uncomfortable. And cold. I can't sleep on my back."

He looks over at her. _So?_

She scoots over, closer to him and turns on her side, facing him, their cuffed hands between them at their hips.

"Um…" he starts.

"Look, we'll both be warmer this way," she says, scooting even closer, drawn to his warmth like a moth to a flame, aware of the danger but unable to pull away from its undeniable attraction.

_Now I can't sleep,_ he thinks. Nevertheless, he reaches across her and drags her blanket across them, over his, for another layer.

"What are you…?" She jumps when his arm comes over her. "Oh."

He returns his arm where it was, saying, "Why are you always so ornery?"

"Me?"

"You."

"Well, you ain't exactly pleasant to be around, either, Sunshine," she says sarcastically.

"See, that's what I mean. You argue everything."

_Humph._ She tucks her head down, saying nothing.

After a time, she sighs, this time resignedly. _He is too close,_ she thinks, finding that his proximity and warmth is making her want to be honest with him. Unwittingly, she snuggles in closer to him.

"Do you want the truth?" she asks quietly.

He turns on his side, facing her now. "I always want the truth," he says quietly, his free hand lifting her chin.

_Good God, he really means that._ She swallows. "I act like an ass half the time to hide the fact that I'm scared."

She meets his eyes and suddenly he sees the scared girl instead of the mouthy criminal. He feels her right hand slip into his left where they are cuffed together between them, twining her slender fingers with his.

"I'm scared of the things I've done," she says, her wide brown eyes meeting his blue ones, her free hand coming up to rest on his chest. She can feel the pounding of his heart beneath her palm.

"Scared of who I've become." His lips, so close, touch hers, feather-light and fleeting.

"Scared of facing the…" he kisses the corner of her mouth, "…the consequences of my actions," she finishes breathlessly.

Her candor and vulnerability is his undoing, and he takes her upper lip between his, sucking at it lightly, his tongue reaching forward to sweep lightly at it before releasing it.

"I never intended for it to go this far," she whispers before crashing her lips fully against his, her free hand clutching his chest.

His hand moves from her chin to cup her cheek gently, the softness of her skin surprising him. Her lips part beneath his and he groans into her, plunging his tongue into the welcome warmth of her mouth.

She meets his thrusting tongue with her own, just as demanding and full of need. More so. Pushing up on their cuffed hands, she leans over him, kissing him greedily, unable to slake her thirst for him.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Arthur gasps, breaking away momentarily. Gwen's hand is at the buttons of his shirt as fast as his is at hers, both struggling to unbutton one-handed. Her slender fingers are more nimble than his and she has better luck, reaching back to finish her own buttons after she's done his.

Chuckling seductively, Arthur pulls her over him and slides her up his body to lavish attention on her breasts. He takes one into his mouth and she gasps, grabbing a fistful of his hair with her left hand. Her right hand takes advantage of the handcuffs and guides his hand to her other breast.

"Better idea," he groans, moving their hands down so that they can undo the buttons on their jeans.

"Definitely," she agrees, taking his earlobe into her mouth, sucking and biting it gently.

With some minor acrobatics they manage to shed their jeans, tossing them to the sides of the blankets hurriedly before scrambling back under the warmth of the blankets.

Gwen reaches down and grasps him in her hand, squeezing his firm shaft gently in her small hand. His fingers find their way between her legs and she sighs deliciously when they slide languidly along her folds before slipping within her.

His head drops back over to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, savoring it.

She climbs over him again, her hand on him still, guiding him into her as she eases herself down onto him. She joins their linked hands, threading her fingers through his, pinning it next to his head as she leans on it for support.

"Guinevere," he says, her name a prayer, and she nearly comes at the sound of it.

"Arthur," she responds, claiming his lips with hers again, demanding, hungry, as she moves her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, their unspoken desire building, mounting, until they are both mindless, aware of nothing else but each other and this moment.

Gwen trails kisses along his jaw, down his neck, tasting the smoke and salt of his skin on her tongue. Her body is tingling. Sensory overload claims her, and she is lost to him; lost to his arms, his lips at her ear, his hand at her breast. She moves faster, more urgently, and small noises escape from her throat as the wave pours over her, huge and powerful. She cries out and sinks her teeth into his neck.

"Oh…" Arthur grunts hoarsely as his release follows on the tail of hers, and he wraps his arm tight around her back, not even feeling the bite he has just received.

_I am going to burn in hell for this._

xxx

The rising sun wakes Gwen, and she blinks her eyes open to find herself staring at Arthur's neck. _Oh, yeah. Right,_ she remembers. _Twice._

She leans back to look at him. He appears to still be deeply asleep.

"Arthur?" she whispers tentatively. He sighs, cuddling her in his arm. A moment later he starts to snore.

_All right, then._ She gently raises her left hand to inspect the handcuff still around her wrist, looking for the maker's mark.

_LDG._ There it is, faint. She smiles. _If he only knew how many hours I spent sitting in my father's forge working out how to escape from these…_

Gwen grasps the cuff in her left hand and squishes her slender hand down as compact as she can, and pulls. She is free in less than a minute.

xxx

Arthur begins to wake, turning slightly, reaching for the small, warm and surprisingly luscious body he remembers beside him.

_Something just ain't right, here,_ he thinks, opening his eyes.

_She's gone._

Frustrated, he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, and discovers that his left hand is now cuffed to his own right instead of hers.

How the hell…? She probably found the key.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He closes his eyes again.

"_I'm sorry, Arthur," he vaguely remembers a voice whispered close into his ear. A soft kiss on his stubbled cheek._

He sits up and reaches for his jeans, hoping the key is still there. It isn't. _Shit_.

Sighing, he reaches for them and pulls them on. _At least she cuffed my hands in front_, he thinks bitterly.

He buttons his shirt and starts to think.

_All right. She did just what you expected. _ He looks around. _And she stole your damn horse._ He sighs and drops his hands. Looking down, he notices that she's slipped her silver ring on his pinky finger, and a slow smile creeps unbidden across his face.

_So it's a game now, darlin'?_

He stands and pulls his boots on. _…The hell?_

Arthur pulls his foot out of his boot and tips it over. The key tumbles from his boot into the dust, glinting in the sun.

Much to his own surprise, loud, raucous laughter erupts from his lips, and he sits down on a rock, shaking his head, still laughing, as he picks up they key and frees his hands.

_Most definitely a game._

He packs up what he can carry, and reaches for his hat. _She stole my hat. She stole my horse and my hat._ He looks down. _Star is still there. That's something, anyway._

Surveying the land around him with his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun, _damn her for taking my hat_, he spies something about thirty yards away: A scrap of material tied around a scruffy hunk of sagebrush. He recognizes it immediately; it's from her shirt.

_She's heading south. Mexico, probably. _He starts walking.

An hour along, he finds another piece of her shirt, and finds himself wondering if she'll have anything left of it by the time he finds her.

And he will find her.

"Was she worth it, Pendragon?" A familiar voice reaches his ears and he hears the unmistakable sound of horse hooves.

"Yep," he says, not turning around. "Tell you what, though: it's sure as hell going to be fun catching her again."

The horse draws up next to him and stops. "Get on, Clotpole."

**Song suggestion: "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash. Of course. :)**


	6. Victorian London

**Victorian London, circa 1890**

**Anastasia-G**

"I heard that she lived in a... house of ill-repute."

"No well-bred young woman would study such an instrument, and in France no less."

"Does she really think any self-respecting Englishman would marry her?"

Lord Arthur Pendragon swirled his wineglass, affecting disinterest at the feverish whispers of gossip. Vivian, the young Countess of Ridgewell, and her assortment of vain heiresses had cornered him soon after supper, though thus far they had failed to solicit his participation in their gleeful character assassination. His eyes flickered to the subject of their censure, Lady Guinevere Leodegrance, recently returned from France after the death of her father, Sir Thomas Leodegrance.

Hemmed in by two young gentlemen, she looked as bored as he felt, and her polite smiles failed to reach her beautiful dark eyes. Wisps of chocolate-dark hair kissed her throat and temples tantalizingly, and the diamond drop earrings winked liquid light against her smooth skin.

After the early death of Lady Genevieve Leodegrance, Thomas had flouted social convention and dispatched his daughter to an exclusive French conservatory, not (as was the case with other aristocratic families) to master the feminine arts of embroidery or pretty drawing, but to study under master cellists, an instrument that English society frowned upon as indecent for women.

"Milord, are you listening?" Vivian's tart voice teased, and Arthur reluctantly diverted his attention.

"What's that?"

The blonde heiress wrinkled her nose, souring her pretty features, "If you ask me, it's distasteful to be out so soon after her father's death," she sniffed, and then her voice grew sweetly malicious. "Not that it's really of consequence. Even the most impeccable propriety fails to compensate for that hideously tawny skin. Don't you agree, milord Arthur?" she fluttered her eyelashes at him meaningfully while her companions giggled.

Arthur leaned back against the mantelpiece, taking a sip of his wine and returning his eyes to Guinevere boldly, "Actually Vivian, I was admiring the remarkable effect of a touch of sunlight on a beautiful woman's complexion."

The countess' face soured again, more hideously this time, and she trailed away imperiously with her herd of sycophants.

Guinevere caught his eye from across the room, and something flickered momentarily in her gaze before she glanced away. Arthur smiled to himself.

If only Vivian knew.

xxx

Two weeks ago:

_The young widow Morgana, Baroness of Ashtonbury, also incurred the wrath of polite society, but unlike Guinevere her immense wealth shielded her from open censure. Bold, witty, and beautiful besides, the Baroness boasted a string of admirers and openly shocked the matrons of London society by casually discarding a string of lovers. Her latest transgressions were the private dinners she hosted at her manor, where everyone from the King of Spain to the Madames of the London brothels were said to be in attendance. Rumours abounded of these illicit gatherings. Some said the Baroness lounged in nothing save her jewels and expensive mink, while men washed her feet in perfume and semi-clothed women danced for her pleasure._

_In truth the dinners hosted musicians and poets, political essayists and young artists fresh from the Bohemian fervor sweeping through Europe. Ostracized and dismissed from the chilly circles of London's aristocracy, they flocked to the renegade Baroness._

_As her cousin, Arthur first attended these dinners obligatorily. But he had to admit, the people he met in Morgana's parlor were a damn sight more interesting than Vivian and her ilk. He'd even befriended a poet, a young and earnest Irishman named Liam Emrys, or Merlin as he was called, and Morgana had raised her eyebrows in surprise when after a lengthy conversation with the boy Arthur had gruffly asked her for a few books on Irish history._

_It was at one such dinner that he met Guinevere for the first time. He'd heard the rumors of course. Sir Thomas was dead, and his son, the young Elliott Leodegrance, was deep in gambling debt. A rich match for Guinevere seemed their only chance of saving the family seat in Glastonbury, but her years of study in France counted heavily against her in the eyes of many a wealthy family. Naturally, Morgana had invited her to dinner._

_Even in her black mourning gown, Guinevere was beautiful enough to make his breath catch in his throat. The high-collared bodice did little to hide her shapely, tapered curves, and her luscious dark hair curled in the shape of a multitude of desires._

_But when she played… the moment she sat behind the massive, lacquered cello Morgana had procured, raising her skirts and petticoat, exposing her lovely stockinged legs with a cool casualness that she surely learned in France, he could sense several men and a not a few women shift uncomfortably in their seats. Guinevere had tossed her head, eyes closed, regal and assured, before touching bow to string and drawing out music so velvety rich that air grew redolent. Halfway through the solo she opened her eyes, looking directly into his, and a bolt of raw feeling split him stomach to groin. He wanted her then, immediately and without hesitation. Wanted those dark eyes looking at him alone. Wanted to peel her stockings away with his teeth, run his tongue over the bare skin as elegantly as her bow skimmed the strings._

_She kept her eyes on his until the piece ended, then she replaced her skirts and stood as the parlor burst into applause._

_"Marvellous, my dear," Morgana had cooed, kissing her on both cheeks._

_Arthur had waited patiently until she was alone, then taken her hand, feeling the soft tapered fingers and firm yet delicate bones. Her lips had parted as her moist brown eyes found his._  
_He couldn't remember exchanging names, or much of what they talked about. He did remember tugging her out to the balcony, away from the crowd. Their lips came together of their own volition, with a velvet sigh as of a union long denied. He brushed his lips over hers, revelling in their softness and fighting to restrain himself. He felt her hands come up to his shoulders, her thumbs squeezing, subtly urging him closer as her mouth parted beneath his. The touch of her soft wet tongue sent him reeling, and he crushed her to him with a groan, suckling and biting her delectable lips until she was quivering, moaning softly as the heated kisses continued. When they tore their lips away from each other, breathing hard, he could feel the heat glowing off her skin and cursed the layers of clothes between them._

_"Marry me," the words slipped from his lips almost unconsciously._

_"What?" her eyes grew wide._

_There was a knocking on the balcony door and they both jumped apart, startled. Morgana stood there, looking coolly amused in her green silk gown._

_"I see you took the liberty of introducing yourselves," she smirked._

xxx

Guinevere was restless. Tucked in her favorite chair in her Uncle Gaius' study, with a cup of steaming cocoa beside her, she appeared the picture of complacency. But the book she had tried to start lay abandoned on her lap, her eyes distant. Thoughts swooped down on her like frightened birds: the crumbling estate in Glastonbury, Elliott's drinking, how much longer she could intrude on her Uncle's hospitality.

The taste of Lord Arthur Pendragon's lips as he breathed hot upon her mouth…

_"Marry me."_

Surely he hadn't meant it. Too many Englishmen were bound by the rigid conventions of family and society to consider her for a wife.

She looked up when Lucy, the little parlor maid, entered meekly, seemingly troubled.

The maid dropped a delicate curtsey, "Pardon m'lady. But there's a gentleman to see you."

Guinevere frowned, "At this hour? Did you tell him I'm retired?"

Lucy twisted her hands anxiously, "Yes m'lady, twice I told him. But he insisted an' he won't go away. He says he'll wait out'n in the rain if he has to."

"Who is this man? What does he look like?"

"He says he's a friend of the Baroness of Ashtonbury m'lady. He's tall and his hair's fair."

Guinevere's face changed, "Send him in, Lucy. I'll receive him here."

The maid looked unsure but bobbed out with a curtsey. Guinevere stood and smoothed down her dressing gown. The rich purple brocade was stiff and modest, but the buttons ended lower than a gown, so that her lace nightgown peeked below her collarbone. She briefly considered waking her lady's maid to change, but then decided against it. _Everyone thinks I'm the whore of Babylon anyhow. May as well receive a man in my dressing gown._She was tired of playing to the rules of a losing game, of having to stifle her thoughts when pompous men belittled her intelligence and supercilious women made biting remarks about her musical interests.

She missed the Continent, the literary salons teeming with revolutionary fervor, starlit walks along Montmarte and heated discussions about Dvorák and Tchaikovsky. She had even hoped to find love, when charming pianist Lancelot Du Lac had wooed her with sweet words and kisses.

But Du Lac was gone, following his dreams elsewhere on a path too mercurial for two, and now her father was no more, and Elliott was lost somewhere in a hell of his own making, where he had languished since their mother's death.

Her thoughts scattered when Lord Pendragon stepped in to the study, closing the door quietly behind him. His clothes were noticeably damp, and she tried to ignore how attractively his rain-wet golden hair dripped over his temple.

"Milord," she smiled, "What brings you here?"

Those sapphire eyes seemed to burn through her dressing gown, and she felt curiously light-headed, "I had to see you," he said quietly.

"What for?"

He closed the distance between them and captured her mouth in his. The kiss was urgent and hungry, he tasted of rain and fine brandy and cloves, and her eyes fluttered shut, leaning into him with a sigh. The protesting voices in her head faded and sputtered feebly as they had the first night he kissed her. Now, as then, she found herself drowning in his scent and taste, every tip of her body awakening in response.

When he drew away she felt almost cheated.

"You know why," he whispered, and she noted the hoarseness in his voice with pleasure.

"You are quite mad," she smiled, lightly grazing his hair with her fingertips. "Your father would never approve of your marriage, he would cut you off without a penny."

His large hands covered her back, pulling her tighter against him, "I couldn't give a damn. No woman has made me feel this way, certainly not those simpering fools my father keeps throwing at me."

"Those simpering fools have unmitigated access to the highest echelons of London society, which I do not."

"London society be damned," he swore, his eyes pinioning her with their lucid gaze, "Nothing but an assemblage of fawning imbeciles hankering after recognition from other fawning imbeciles. You and I both know that."

Guinevere pulled away from him. This had gone far enough. Kisses and words were all well and good, but they were only dream-dust before the light of day.

"You cannot know what you're saying. What would we do? Where would we go? Friends like the Baroness are more uncommon than a winged horse in England."

"My father won't disinherit me. I'm his only heir and he would rather set fire to the family seat himself than see it entailed away to my cousins. He might rage, but he will yield," he moved close to her again and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, frowning, "What's the real reason for your hesitation? What are you afraid of, Guinevere?" the way his tongue caressed her name felt positively indecent, and a ripple of velvet heat trembled through her.

_I'm afraid that you will come to hate me one day for things I've done, and dream of a better, God-fearing woman. I'm afraid you'll take my cello away and hush my voice and stifle my passions and most of all I'm afraid I'll let you because your touch melts me and I can hardly breathe when you look into my eyes and I know I will give you every part of me and more and I am so very afraid you will take them all and go someplace I cannot follow._

Storm-blue eyes searched her face, and she swallowed at their unvarnished tenderness.

"Play for me," he said softly.

"What?"

"Play for me. Just once. And I'll leave here and trouble you no more."

His face was serious, "Please, Guinevere."

There it was again. Her name drawn out in lush, low syllables.

_Very well._

Guinevere walked over to her beloved cello, which she had named Sophie and brought back with her from Paris. She hesitated for a moment before sitting down: she had no stockings or a petticoat, only a thin nightgown.

Arthur noticed her hesitation, "Ah. Let me provide some equilibrium." She watched as he shrugged off his overcoat and jacket, then his richly embroidered waistcoat. Her eyes were drawn to his beautiful, long-fingered hands as they slowly undid the jewelled cuff links, rolling up the white sleeves over muscled forearms.

She almost laughed. Maybe there was still hope for England. Emboldened, she strolled casually over and began to undo his cravat, "I think this will do it," her voice was low, throaty and seductive, and she saw his eyes darken. She pulled the collar loose in a single motion, suddenly seized with an urge to touch her tongue to his bare neck.

He watched her as she straddled the bench, pulling her skirts up over bare legs. Edging closer to the instrument, Guinevere locked her eyes on his, her bow hovering over the strings, like a lover's mouth poised over skin. Her eyes drank him in, the muscular lines of his torso outlined against the white shirt, the trousers well fitted over powerful legs. A man who had been practically born on horseback. Her gaze wandered back to his eyes, their smouldering sapphire blue, and she imagined their gaze covering her naked body, and a wet heat began to pool somewhere low in her belly. She touched the bow to the string at last and the first note moaned.

As she played she felt her skin grown damp and hot, energy running fire from her fingers to her toes. The music was rich and low and dreamy with yearning, weighted with desire. She closed her eyes briefly, pressing the bow down and making the instrument keen its pleasure, and when she opened them Arthur was missing.

"Keep playing," his voice spoke behind her, and she swallowed when she felt him slide behind her on the bench. She delved into the piece, the notes pouring out redolent and flawless, and his hands came around her waist.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered against her skin, his breath puffing the curls off her neck, "The first time I saw you play I knew there was no other woman for me."

His hands slid up her body, resting underneath her breasts while he trailed soft kisses up and down her neck, nipping slightly at her ear. She kept playing, her elbow rising and falling, fingers feverishly travelling the massive neck of the instrument.

Arthur's hands began to rub light circles under her breasts, deliberately teasing, and his breath husked in her ear, "I want touch you."

"Yes…" the cello was hot with vibrating music, throbbing through her veins.

"Keep playing," he murmured, his hands undoing the buttons of her dressing gown, and then working with painful slowness on the tiny pearl buttons of her chemise. By the time he freed her aching breasts she was almost panting.

_Two can play at this game._ Without missing a note she subtly edged her backside against his groin, feeling the hard length of him, and was rewarded with a low groan against her neck.

His hands cupped her breasts, slowly and lovingly, and when his thumbs finally brushed the taut nipples she bit her lip to suppress her cry. Arthur increased his ministrations, hands massaging, thumbs flicking, gently grinding his stiff manhood against her, weaving his decadent touches effortlessly into the music that poured forth from her fingers.

Guinevere was shivering all over, barely holding on to the bow as his hands sent sensation buzzing from her breasts to her tiptoes. None of the stolen kisses by the twinkling lights of the Rhone, none of Lancelot's gentle touching, had ever made her moan and melt and quiver like this.

He trailed one hand down her waist, splaying his fingers across the smooth skin of her inner thigh, lightly stroking the way her bow skimmed the strings.

"Arthur… please," she whispered, breathless, the juncture between her legs throbbing with melted heat.

With painstaking slowness his hand travelled up her thigh, while his other palm caressed and squeezed her breast lazily. She felt him suck in a breath as his fingers found her damp and hot already, and she nudged heedlessly against his touch as her bow sliced with savage lightness over throbbing strings.

Her head flung back and her eyes closed, playing with pure instinct now as currents of pleasure rolled lapped her. _Did he lock the door?_ The danger of discovery rippled excitingly through her body.

"Guinevere… oh," he husked as more wetness touched his fingers, and he rubbed the slickness all up and down her heated folds, pausing to rub the singing nub at her core.

She bucked at the raw sensation, and the music floundered for an instant, "Keep playing, Guinevere," he groaned in her ear.

"Oh… yes," his fingers started to move faster, flicking and stroking, while his other teased and rubbed the hard tips of her breasts, drawing out the music of her pleasure just as she ravaged the instrument before her.

"More… faster," and she no longer knew if she was begging him or urging herself.

He complied, drawing her earlobe between his teeth while he slid a finger inside her, feeling her shudder as he moved up and down, thumb brushing the aching, heated mound. Arthur increased the pace of his fingers, groaning against the burgeoning stiffness of his cock, wanting to feel her fingers, those lovely masterful fingers, wrap around the length.

He plunged his finger up and down as she bucked frantically against him, keening and whimpering. When he felt she was close he rubbed the sweet little mound and Guinevere felt the molten heat surge through her in waves and endless waves and the bow fell from her fingers as she wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling his mouth hard against her skin as she rode the pleasure against his hand.

She was breathless and bathed in dampness and her eyes opened slowly, dazed, her head falling back against his shoulder, meeting the cerulean glimmer of his gaze.

_I'm lost. Completely and utterly._

Arthur kissed her temple, softly and with such tenderness her heart ached, "Do you want me to leave?" he murmured.

Guinevere laced their fingers together, "Yes," she noted the sudden confusion in his eyes and kissed his mouth, savouring the fullness of his lips, "And take me with you."

**Suggested music: 'Explosive" by Bond. Somewhat anachronistic but a lovely, sexy, exciting piece.**

**Notes: I now want to write an entire Victorian kink series with Morgana the Baroness overseeing a sex dungeon with threesomes and bondage and spanking all manner of Victorian naughtiness. This is how my mind works. (Note from kbrand5333: I could support that idea...)**


	7. Chicago

**Camelot Speakeasy, Chicago, 1929**

**kbrand5333**

The hard soles of Arthur Pendragon's shoes echo on the metal stairs hidden behind some trash bins in a dank back alley. He trudges down the stairs and reaches a thick metal door, on which he pounds with the side of his fist. He waits.

Seconds later, a hidden panel slides open, and a pair of blue eyes peek out at him. "Password?" a deep voice asks.

"Open up, Percy, it's me," Arthur says crossly. _Always the same thing with this one. It's my damn club. I don't need to give the password._

"Password," he repeats.

"Percival. I don't _have_ the new password. Morgana didn't give it to me this morning. Now open the damn door before I poke you in the eye through that slot," Arthur says, leaning up on tiptoe to stare down the large man behind the door.

"Umm…" he hesitates.

"I'm not above calling the cops to have your ass deported back to England, you know," he threatens.

The panel slides closed and Arthur hears a series of clicks as Percy unbolts the heavy door. It opens with a protesting squeal, causing Arthur to wince. "Grease that stupid thing, will ya? This place is supposed to be kept secret," he says to the large man just inside. "What is this week's idiotic password thought up by my darling sister, anyway?" he asks, stopping.

Percy sighs. "_Bee's knees,_" he says sheepishly.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Last week it was _cat's meow._ She needs to stop being so predictable and cutesy."

"Well, you tell her, 'cause I bloody well ain't going to," Percival says. "She scares me."

"Yeah, she'll do that," Arthur says, patting the security guard on the shoulder. Just then he hears some music start up. Good music. _Really_ good music. He turns his head towards the inner sanctum of the speakeasy. "Who's that?"

"Some new band. Merlin hired them. Said he heard them in the colored part of town and they… what was the phrase? 'Blew his socks off.' So he hired them to play here regularly."

"First I'm hearing of it," he says, distracted by the strains of "Blue Skies" reaching his ears. "They're really good," he mutters, wandering in.

Arthur strides down the hall, hat dangling from his hand, the music growing louder as he advances.

Just outside the door, he hears a voice start singing, and he stops walking mid-step. _The voice of an angel._ Her voice floats into his ears, stirring something deep in his soul, almost like a long-forgotten memory. He feels warm. His heart is racing. His legs feel like jelly. His hat falls from his hand. _Who is that singing? Why do I suddenly feel like I have the most wonderful flu ever, just hearing her voice?_ Her voice feels like home, warm and comforting. But it also feels like… _sex._

Arthur raises a hand to the door and pulls it open. The speakeasy is in full swing, couples dancing, people drinking their cares away. It is all very wonderful and all very illegal. His eyes barely see the revelry between him and the stage, because all he sees is _her._

She is petite, beautiful in a cream-colored sleeveless dress that hangs just to her knees. Her glowing, dusky-hued skin peeks through the lace cut-outs at the neckline, a contrast against the pale color of the dress. Her arms are long, slender, and graceful; trim, leading down to lovely long fingers with short red lacquered fingernails gently holding the microphone in front of a pair of shiny pink lips that just _beg_ to be kissed repeatedly. _By me_.

The low waist and straight lines of the dress only give hints to the alluring shape beneath it, the lace hemline skimming against shapely calves that lead down to slim ankles.

Her hair is in soft waves, short and dark, framing her lovely face and its beautiful flawless skin. But it is her eyes that draw Arthur in. Almond-shaped chocolate eyes that seem to see everything, twinkle in the stage lights, surrounded by lovely dark long eyelashes.

"Arthur!"

Arthur jumps. "What?" he says, annoyed.

"Have you heard a word I've said?" Merlin asks, incredulous.

"Oh. Have you been talking?" he asks vaguely, eyes drifting back to the stage. He sees the rest of the group. A guitar player, a drummer, a pianist, and an upright bass player. There is a placard to one side with the name "Leo's Hot Five" emblazoned on it.

Merlin smirks. _He's smitten._ "That's all right, I'll leave you to your daydreams, no matter how smutty…" he says. Arthur turns his head sharply.

_That got his attention._

"What are you talking about, Merl?" he says.

"Her. You haven't taken your eyes off that dame since you walked through those doors."

"So? She's— they're good. Percy says you found them?"

"Yeah. They were in some little colored dive, and—"

"What were _you_ doing there?"

"Looking for talent. Which I clearly found."

"Which one is Leo?"

"That's kind of a fake name. The guitarist's name is Elyan Leodegrance; he's the leader. The singer is his sister Gwen. He shortened it to 'Leo' for the band."

"Hmm," he says noncommittally.

"She _is_ good," Merlin comments. "Rumor is that Armstrong tried to steal her away from her brother to sing with his band."

"Louis Armstrong? And she turned him down?"

"Wouldn't leave her baby brother, I hear."

"Wow. I didn't think anyone ever said no to Satch."

"Apparently she did."

The song finishes, and Elyan steps to the microphone.

"Thank you very much, you're very kind," he thanks the patrons for their applause. "My lovely sister Guinevere on vocals," he holds his hand out and she takes it, curtseying to the crowd.

"Gwen, actually," she says, laughing, leaning in to the microphone.

_Guinevere._ The name itself is music. Ignoring Merlin, Arthur slowly starts advancing to the stage.

Elyan releases her hand and she goes to the piano. The man seated there stands and takes her hand as she sits, adjusting the bench closer.

"And she's not just another pretty face, ladies and gentlemen," Elyan continues. "Our next selection is an oldie but a goodie, Scott Joplin's 'Maple Leaf Rag,' featuring my big sister Gwennie on the piano."

He goes back to his stool while Gwen cracks her knuckles theatrically, threading her fingers together in front of her and pushing her palms outward, stretching her arms out straight.

She launches into the complicated rag, fingers dancing, left hand making the large leaps, knowing exactly where to go. She could play this in her sleep. The drummer plays a simple accompaniment, but the guitar and bass are silent.

Arthur moves closer, watching the muscles in her arms flex, her slender fingers reaching the large intervals, her head bent over the keys.

_She is amazing. Talented and beautiful. Captivating._

He stands motionless, watching as she finishes with a flourish. The crowd erupts and she stands and curtseys.

_She doesn't bow; that's quite charming,_ he notices as he stands at the edge of the stage, applauding and smiling at her.

"She's not for you, little brother," a voice purrs in his ear.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur reluctantly tears his eyes away from Guinevere's legs and turns to look at his sister with annoyance.

"She's an employee."

"So?"

She rolls her eyes. "You own this place. Don't screw around with the employees. It's not good business."

xxx

_Who is that man? He's watching me like he wants to have me for dinner, dessert, and breakfast the next morning,_ Gwen thinks as she curtseys following her piano solo. As Elyan talks some more, she gives him a once-over. _Charcoal suit, pin-striped. Red necktie. A jawline most guys would kill for. Are his eyes blue or grey? I can't tell in this light. Nice lips. I could really enjoy those… Stop staring, girl._

She peeks again. _He is rather tempting. But I feel like I've seen him somewhere before. Pay attention, Gwen._ The opening bars of "Stardust" start up._ Start singing._

As she sings, she cannot help glancing down at the handsome blonde who seems to be as interested in her as she is in him. At one point she almost forgets the words, but recovers quickly enough, making it look like her own interpretation. Elyan notices, however, and shoots her a look. She sees it and makes a face at him, not missing a beat.

A loud, crass bell starts ringing just as a large red light in the ceiling suddenly flashes on. The music stops abruptly; people start to scatter, many of them slamming their drinks back, some abandoning them as they rush toward the back exit.

Gwen is shocked into paralysis on the stage, standing frozen behind the microphone. Her bandmates have fled the stage already.

"Guinevere!" she hears a voice call her, and she looks down. The blonde man is holding his hand up to her.

She blinks, waking from her daze. She reaches both hands down, placing them on his broad shoulders as he reaches for her waist, swinging her easily down from the stage.

"This way," he says, taking her hand and leading her down a narrow hall. He touches a hidden panel in the wall and it slides open, revealing a secret office. He pulls her inside.

"What was that?" she asks as he leads her to a leather sofa against a wall.

"Raid. Possibly. Percy has a button out front that he'll press if any of the fuzz start poking their piggy noses around the alley." _Now you've gotten yourself alone in a hidden room with her, Arthur. Are you a genius or are you a complete idiot?_

She nods. "Oh. Thank you. I'm—"

"Guinevere, I know. I'm Arthur," he is about to offer his hand to shake, but he realizes she is still holding it. So he lifts their joined hands and kisses hers.

"Arthur the owner of this joint Arthur?" she asks, staring at her hand where she can still feel the touch of his lips on her skin.

He nods. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, gently (reluctantly) extracting his hand from hers to go to the bar on the sideboard.

"Just water please, thanks."

"Um… seltzer okay? I don't have any plain water in here, sorry."

"That's fine."

Arthur drops some ice cubes from a bucket into a glass and fills it. He reaches with some small tongs, producing a lemon wedge. Holding it up, he looks back at her. "Lemon?"

"Do you have a lime?"

"Hmmm… yes." He fishes one out of the dish of citrus slices, gives it a squeeze over the glass, and drops it in. He hands it to her and then makes an identical one for himself before coming back to join her on the sofa.

"You seem uneasy, Guinevere. Are you all right?" he asks softly.

"Just a bit rattled. I wasn't expecting the light and the bell and the commotion…" she stammers, rambling. _Running off at the mouth again._

He smiles. "I suppose it can be a bit of a shock if you're not used to it," he says, standing a moment to remove his jacket and sling it over the back of a desk chair.

_Those shoulders aren't any smaller without the jacket,_ Gwen notes, quickly taking a drink to hide the fact that she was staring. Again.

Arthur sits beside her again, a few inches closer. He loosens his tie a bit. _Is it warm in here?_

"So, um… where were you working before?" he asks, reaching for his glass.

"We were playing at a dry joint called Leon's. Not much of a place, but it was steady work. Merlin was able to double our salary, so we couldn't say no." She scoots a little closer to him, under the guise of adjusting her skirt. _His eyes are blue and grey, mixed. Gorgeous; unique. I could lose track of time staring into them._

"I know Leon. Good guy." _Did she just move closer?_

She nods, fingers tracing the edge of her glass. _He is too close, yet not close enough._

"Are you from Chicago originally?" Arthur asks. _She still seems nervous. I want to take her in my arms and forget the world outside._

"No, we're from a small town outside Gary, Indiana. Griffith. Came over here because, well, we're jazz musicians, right?"

Arthur nods, turning towards her slightly. _She smells really good, too._

"We couldn't afford to go to New York, and since Chicago was right here, it made sense. You?"

"I'm originally from London, actually."

"Really? You don't sound it."

"We moved here when I was six. My mother took ill and died, and Father couldn't take staying there. So he uprooted my sister and me and moved us here. It actually turned out to be a smart move once the war started. I can turn the accent back on when I want to, of course," he says, demonstrating this skill with the last sentence.

She giggles. "It suits you, actually. Was that your sister you were talking with? With the dark hair?" _It had better have been._

He nods. "Yes, Morgana. She does most of the actual running of this place. I just write the checks," he laughs, inching closer to her. His knee is touching hers now.

She sets her glass on the coffee table and boldly sets her hand on his thigh. His heart stops beating.

"You have a nice smile, Arthur," she says quietly, her voice breathy as she looks at him through long sooty lashes.

"Thank you. People always tell me," he reaches up slowly and brushes his thumb against her cheek, "that I don't smile enough." _Up close, she has really cute freckles dotting her nose and cheekbones. I want to kiss each one._

"They're probably right," she says, turning her face into his hand, her eyelids fluttering slightly. _His touch feels so right._

"You have," he says, as her hand slides up his leg a little, "the most beautiful voice," his hand slides around to the back of her neck, "I've ever heard." He leans in and kisses her, softly, just once.

"Arthur," she whispers, her fingers wrapping around his necktie, pulling him in for another kiss.

He leans into her, over her, pressing her back onto the sofa as she pulls him down by his tie. Neither of them is sure who is leading whom here, and neither care. Her lips part under his just as his tongue starts asking for entry.

_She feels so good. Tastes so good._ His hand slides down along her body, feeling her curves beneath her dress, coming to rest at her waist. She moans beneath him, her hands winding up around his neck, pulling him closer. He follows her lead, deepening the kiss, losing himself in the warmth of her beautiful mouth.

The hand at her waist creeps higher, resting on her ribs. When he stills it there, she reaches down and takes his hand in hers, guiding it up, over her breast.

_Thank you,_ he thinks, squeezing the soft orb, caressing it with the flat of his palm. He feels her nipple stiffen in response beneath his hand.

"Guinevere," he gasps, pulling his lips away for a moment to kiss her neck, reaching up to slide the strap of her dress from her shoulder. She reaches up and runs her hand down his back, squeezing his backside.

"Oh!" he exclaims, surprised at her forwardness. He drops his head back down to her neck, biting gently, chuckling as she giggles at him.

"You've got a nice backside," she says, squeezing it again with another giggle.

"You've got nice _everything,_" he says, looking into her whiskey-colored eyes before kissing her again.

His hand leaves her breast and she makes a faint disappointed whimpering noise. It is quickly replaced by a gasp when the same hand slides up her leg, shoving the skirt of her dress with it as it climbs higher, to her thigh. He feels the edge of her stockings; his fingertips just make contact with the creamy bare skin of her upper thigh…

The phone rings.

"Damn." He drops his head onto her shoulder.

"Ignore it," she says, nibbling his ear.

"I can't. That's the all-clear. I'll need to get back out there, and so will you. Especially you," he says, kissing her one more time before climbing off to answer the insistent phone.

She sighs and sits up, reaching up to straighten her hair.

"Yes," he answers, trying not to sound _too_ irritated. "Very good. What? Yes. Um, a little. Good_bye_, Merlin." He hangs up the phone, blushing slightly.

She looks at him. "You're blushing, Arthur. What did he say?" She smiles slightly.

"He asked if we were necking back here."

She laughs. "How on earth would he know that?"

"The man is creepy sometimes. Um, Guinevere…"

"Yes?" she stands, smoothing her dress as she crosses to him.

"To be continued?" he asks, his hand cupping her face gently.

Gwen leans up on tiptoe and kisses him as she reaches into his trouser pocket, making him jump. She withdraws his handkerchief, wipes her lipstick from his lips and says, "You'd better believe it, mister."

**Suggested songs are the ones named in the story, primarily "Blue Skies." I recommend Ella Fitzgerald's version, but it's a great tune. "Stardust" is a favorite as well, but it is a sadder song. I rather like Harry Connick, Jr.'s version. And "Maple Leaf Rag" is of course a classic Scott Joplin rag that I just threw in there because I like it.**


	8. World War II

**British Army Field Hospital, 1942**

**kbrand5333**

"And how are you this afternoon?"

"Not too bad, Nurse. Bored, mostly," the young lieutenant replies, giving the pretty nurse a lopsided grin.

"Would you like a book, or a deck of cards or something? I'm sure I could dig some kind of diversion up for you," Nurse Guinevere says, looking over his chart. "Lieutenant Emrys. Hmm. You are due for some medication, my friend." She makes a mark on his chart and goes to a cabinet at the side of the large ward room filled with bunks.

"Perhaps a book. If you have anything good, that is."

"Oh, choosy, are we?" she says, smiling at him. "It's not often we get soldiers interested in literature."

"I'm barely a soldier," he admits, grinning at her again.

"Now, do not be so modest. I happen to know what you did to earn that ankle filled with shrapnel and broken bones."

"How is the Captain, anyway?" Lieutenant Emrys says, looking at the bunk next to him, his face suddenly full of concern.

"He's next on my list, Lieutenant. Here," she says, handing him two pills and a paper cup filled with water.

"Thank you. And call me Merlin," he says, swallowing the pills.

"Merlin. That's an unusual name," she says, handing him a book. "I'm Guinevere, but you may call me Gwen."

"Thanks, Gwen. Hmm. _The Hobbit._ I thought this was a children's book," he says, flipping the book over.

"Allegedly, but it's not really. You'll like it," she says, moving to the next bed and picking up the chart clipped to the footrail. "Hmm. Captain Arthur Pendragon. You've gotten yourself in quite the mess here, haven't you?" she mutters, looking over the chart with a scowl. "Broken clavicle, extensive shrapnel damage to the chest and shoulder…" She looks up at the unconscious form lying on the bed.

_He's very handsome,_ she can't help thinking. _Young for an officer._ His left shoulder is heavily bandaged, and some blood is starting to seep through. He looks slightly sweaty. _I should check for fever,_ she thinks, walking to the head of the bed and laying her hand on his forehead. _Not too bad, but will definitely keep an eye on him._ She checks his bandages. _They need changing._

"How is he?" Merlin's voice behind her.

"Stable, for the moment. Going to keep my eye on his temperature. We don't want him coming down with a fever." She turns. "Good man, is he?"

"The best. I wouldn't have dragged him out of the road if he wasn't," he says, smiling weakly.

"I'm sure," she says, her eyes drifting back to the young captain. She goes to another cabinet and gets clean bandages and brings them to the bedside where she sits on a stool beside him.

Reaching gently, carefully down, she begins to remove the old bandages, discarding them in a metal tray at her feet. He winces; he squirms in his unconscious state.

"Shh, Captain. I'm just changing your bandages," she speaks softly to him, her fingers coming up to brush the sweaty hair at his forehead.

"He prefers to be called Arthur," Merlin says from the next bed, eyes on his book.

"Arthur," she says, looking down at his face, "I'm Guinevere." She impulsively strokes his cheek.

Arthur sighs then, and settles back down. Gwen quirks her head to the side, curious, but continues to work, carefully peeling the last layer from his shoulder.

_This is going to leave quite the scar,_ she thinks, but cannot help notice that his chest and shoulders are well-muscled and attractive. _Not scrawny at all, but neither is he too huge. He's perfect._

Her heart seems to be beating rather faster, and she chastises herself. _He's a patient. You're not supposed to be admiring the patients. Only leads to trouble._

Gwen touches Arthur's shoulder with her hand, and she can swear he smiles just slightly. "I'm just going to clean your wounds and give you clean bandages," she says, using the same soft tone to which he seems to be responding. Arthur sighs.

"Ah, how is Captain Pendragon doing, Gwen?" Doctor Gaius strides up, peeking over her shoulder at their patient.

"He's comfortable now, Doctor. He was squirming a bit, but he seems calm now."

"I'd like to take a look as long as you've got the bandages off," he says.

"Of course." She stands and the doctor sits in the stool she has just vacated.

"Hmm." The old man leans in close, inspecting the sutures and the other wounds. He gingerly touches Arthur's skin, and the captain flinches and squirms again. "I thought you said he was calm," Dr. Gaius looks sideways up at her.

"He was, just a minute ago," she furrows her brow.

"He's warm," Gaius says, laying his palm on the young man's forehead. Arthur whimpers slightly.

Gwen goes around to the other side of the bed and sits on the mattress beside him, taking his hand between hers.

He immediately relaxes, and Dr. Gaius looks at her, amazed. "What did you do?"

"I just held his hand," she says with a shrug.

"Looking pretty good. When he came in here his shoulder resembled ground beef," the doctor says, inspecting the wound again, looking for any sign of infection or other trouble. "Hmm. This one doesn't look too good. Keep an eye on him, Gwen," he says, pointing to a particularly nasty-looking gash that has been neatly sutured closed. It is a little redder than the rest, and that troubles Gaius.

"Yes, Doctor," she nods, and Gaius stands to go visit the next patient. Gwen tries to remove her hand from Arthur's but he's holding it tightly.

"Um…" she says.

"What is it, Gwen?" Gaius asks, curious.

"He won't let go of my hand."

"Well, at least we know he's responsive," the old man smiles and turns back to the soldier in the next bed.

"Try talking to him again, Gwen, it seemed to work before," Merlin suggests, nose still in his book.

_Worth a shot, anyway._ She leans in close. "Arthur? I need my hand, please, dear. I promise you can have it back later."

After a moment, his grip loosens and she extracts her hand. "Thank you," she tells him softly, squeezing his good shoulder lightly, fighting the urge to kiss his cheek. _What is wrong with me this evening?_

Guinevere applies some antiseptic ointment to his wounds, talking softly to him all the while. Occasionally she peeks up at Merlin, a little self-conscious, but he is studiously keeping his face in his book. _Which means he's listening intently to everything I'm saying._

Gwen returns her attention to Arthur, gently wrapping his wounds, humming softly to herself as she works.

"He likes that song," Merlin says.

"I knew you were listening," she smirks at him. "Arthur," she whispers, bending down over him, "I have to check on some other patients now, love, but I'll be back to check on you soon."

_Did he just pout? Couldn't be._

She turns to the next bed, and sighs heavily. _Private Gwaine. Here we go…_

xxx

"Ehhh… eeeeer…"

Merlin looks to his left, dropping his book down to his chest. _What?_ "Doctor?" he calls.

Dr. Gaius comes over to his bed. "Something wrong?"

Merlin points at Arthur. "He's saying something."

"Ehhhnn… veeeer…"

"…When fear?" Dr. Gaius says, his face puzzling, looking at Merlin. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"No," Merlin leans up on his elbow, listening intently.

"Wennn… ah… veeeer…" Arthur moans, his head turning on the pillow.

"Guinevere. He's saying Guinevere," Merlin translates suddenly.

Dr. Gaius looks up, scanning the large room. "Where is she?" He turns to a passing nurse. "Alice, can you find Gwen please, and send her over?"

"Yes, doctor," she says, hurrying away.

"G…" Arthur manages, and Gaius puts his hand to his forehead.

"He's burning up," he says, whipping the blanket back and reaching for a cool compress.

"Yes, doctor, what is it?" Gwen asks, slightly winded.

"He's asking for you, I think."

"He is," Merlin agrees, nodding.

"Gwehhhh…" Arthur moans again, hoarsely.

Guinevere goes around to his right side, his uninjured side, sitting on the mattress beside him again. "Shh, love, I'm here," she whispers, taking his hand in hers. She gasps as he grips it tightly, almost painfully.

"What's going on?" Merlin asks, hearing the gasp.

"He's squeezing my hand. Hard," she says, and as soon as the words are out of her mouth, Arthur relaxes his grip a bit, as if he understands.

"His fever is spiking," Gaius says, frowning, applying the cold compress to his forehead.

"I'll stay with him," Gwen says.

"Your shift is almost over, Gwen," Gaius says, raising an eyebrow at her.

"It's all right. I'll stay. Besides, I don't think he'll let me go," she says with a smile, holding up their joined hands.

He shrugs, resigned. "It's your time off, who am I to tell you how to spend it?" he mutters, wandering off.

She reaches up with her free hand and adjusts the compress. _Doctors never do it right._

Gaius returns a moment later with a syringe. He gives Arthur the medication, peers over the tops of his glasses at Gwen one more time, and walks off to attend other patients.

"You're going to stay there all night?" Merlin asks.

"If I have to," she says over her shoulder, toeing her shoes off and swinging her legs up onto the bed.

"Well, then, make yourself comfortable," he laughs. "He likes you," he adds.

"He's unconscious."

"He hasn't responded to anyone else."

"Hmm."

"Can I get you anything, Gwen?" Alice comes over.

"Yes, bring that basin of cold water over here, please, so I can refresh his compress."

"Of course," the older nurse says, bringing a stool over and setting the basin on top.

With her one hand, Gwen refreshes the cloth and replaces it on his forehead. "Stay with me, Arthur," she whispers to him. "I need you to fight. I… I want to see you open your eyes so I can see what color they are," she chuckles, her throat surprisingly tight. "Your friend Merlin is very worried about you. Don't make his broken ankle be for naught, now." She hears Merlin snort behind her. "Though I fear that when you do wake, he won't let you forget that he saved your life," she smiles and strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. "Arthur, you are not going to die. Not tonight. Not for a long time. Stay alive… for me."

Before she realizes what she's doing, she leans down and kisses his temple, just below the compress on his forehead.

Arthur's temperature gradually drops over the next several hours, while Gwen's eyelids gradually droop.

"Gwen, you should get some rest," Merlin says.

"Go to sleep, Merlin. You need your rest more than I do." _But he's right. I'm exhausted._

xxx

_Where am I? God, my shoulder hurts. What the hell happened?_ Arthur squeezes his eyes tight, not ready to open them yet. He feels strange. His left shoulder feels like someone has applied a large cheese grater and then set fire to it. He can't move his right shoulder. There is something warm holding it down, and… _someone's holding my hand. Feels nice…_

He turns his head and something tickles his chin. _Smells so good._ He opens his eyes. _Who is this woman?_ The name drifts into his head and he immediately knows.

_Guinevere. She's real. I thought it was a dream. She stayed here with me all night. Either she's real, or I'm dead and this is heaven._

He lifts his head and looks down at her, trying to see her. Her head is tucked into his shoulder, his hand loosely held between hers. She's petite. Dark curls coming loose from a braid now hanging askew.

_She _feels_ really good. I can't see her face very well._ He angles his head, trying not to wake her. _Smooth, light brown forehead. That's about all I can see._ He frowns.

"Arthur!" a voice next to him exclaims.

"Shh!" he shushes Merlin. "She's sleeping," he whispers, trying to bring his other hand around to hold her. _Ow._ He drops it back to his side, disappointed.

"What happened?" Arthur whispers to Merlin.

"There was a bomb, and—"

Guinevere sits up suddenly, surprised and embarrassed. She stares down at a grinning Arthur, her eyes wide. "Oh! I'm…"

"Guinevere, I know," he says quietly.

"What? Oh, yes, well, I am, but I was going to apologize. I didn't mean to fall asleep, least of all on your shoulder."

"It's all right," he says, reaching for her hand again. "I liked waking up with you here."

"You did?" she asks quietly, looking down at her hand in his.

"I dreamt of you." _You were caring for me, leaning over me, your beautiful brown eyes warm and tender, your soft lips brushing against mine, kissing all the hurt away._

"You did?" her eyes fly to his. _Blue, with flecks of grey._

He nods, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. It sends a flutter through her belly and she suddenly feels warm all over.

"I'm happy to discover that you're real."

She smiles, afraid to speak. _My heart will leap from my throat if I open my mouth._

"And you're even more beautiful than you were in my dream," he says, releasing her hand to touch her cheek.

Gwen blushes, his touch once again making her feel weak.

"Um," she stammers, finding her mind completely blank. "How… how are you feeling?"

"Like my shoulder has been shredded. But if you keep taking care of me, I think I'll make a full recovery in no time," he smiles at her and the world stops. She cannot help but smile back at him.

_Her smile is like sunshine._

xxx

Gwen hurries to the hospital, almost running, ignoring the knowing looks from those she passes. But all her haste is wasted this afternoon when she discovers an empty bed where Captain Pendragon was.

Her breath catches in her throat, and her overwhelming sense of loss takes her quite by surprise. _See, you silly girl, that's what happens. That's why you can't get attached to the patients. They leave. He's probably been discharged to go home. Or reassigned to a cushy desk job somewhere, at the very least._

Still, her heart feels empty. Shattered. _If he's gone, he's surely taken my heart with him._ She takes a deep breath, blinks back traitorous tears, and is just about to step forward to strip the bed of its linens, when a voice stops her.

"You look like you've lost something."

Gwen stops breathing. She doesn't turn around. She can't. _It would be too cruel if it were my imagination._

"Or perhaps someone?" the voice says, closer now. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

She gasps as a strong arm snakes around her waist, and a warm body presses itself gently against her. She can feel his other arm, incapacitated by a sling, across the middle of her back. "I thought you'd been discharged," she whispers hoarsely. It was all she could think to say.

"I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Arthur says, his lips tantalizingly close to her neck, just before he turns her around and replaces his right arm around her back, holding her as close as he is able.

"But…" she starts, and his lips cut off her words, soft but insistent, melding deliciously with hers as her eyes flutter closed and her hands come up to rest on his chest.

The kiss is over much too soon and Guinevere opens her eyes to see slate blue eyes gazing down at her, turning her insides to liquid, just as wave of sadness pours over her. _He's leaving._

Tears well in her eyes, and she lifts a hand to his cheek. "Goodbye, Arthur," she whispers, and a tear slips from the corner of her eye.

"No," Arthur says, his voice a low rumble.

"No?" she asks, puzzled.

"This isn't goodbye," he says, wiping her tears with his thumb, "this is hello." With that, he slips his hand behind her neck and kisses her again, more passionately, his tongue shyly coming forward, craving entrance but not wanting to scare her off.

Gwen brings her hands up around his neck and, forgetting that they are in the middle of a hospital ward in the middle of a war, parts her lips beneath his and gives in to the magic of his kiss, surrendering completely.

The hospital ward melts away, and it is just Arthur and Guinevere, locked in an embrace, their souls joining in an eternal dance as they forget the rest of the world.

**The song that Gwen was humming to Arthur is "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square."**


	9. London

**London, 1977**

**kbrand5333**

**A/N: If you are unaware, "fag" is British slang for a cigarette. I would never use the crass American version.**

_I hope those ruffians aren't loitering around again. I hate walking past them,_ Gwen thinks as she walks down the street, on her way home from some Saturday morning shopping. Her bag in her arms with some groceries from the market; she rounds the corner and surveys the street ahead of her.

_They're there. The five of them on one side. On the other, one man on a bench, reading a newspaper. I think I'll stay on newspaper man's side. If nothing else, I won't have to walk through that cloud of cigarette smoke._

She proceeds up the street, enjoying the morning sun on her shoulders, thinking about her plans for the day, her little brunch she's going to go home and make, her brother far away in America…

"Well, well, what have we here?" The seemingly innocuous man with the newspaper is now blocking her path.

"Excuse me," she says, stepping to the side, trying to pass.

"Don't be rude, darlin', I'm tryin' to talk to you, is all," the man says, stepping with her to block her path again.

Gwen swallows uncertainly, looking up at him. _He's big. Kind of scary._

"I'm sorry, I… I need to get my groceries home," she tries again, sidestepping once more to no avail.

"Don't be like that, love, I just want to get to know you better," he says, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek.

She jerks her head away from him, scared, and tries to back up. She backs into another man. _He's not alone._

"Come now, doll, Helios and me, we just wanna be friends, ain't that right, Helios?" the second man coos greasily into her ear.

"Nah, Cenred, I think I wanna be _more_ than friends," Helios disagrees, stepping forward, closer. Gwen holds her shopping bag in front of her like a shield, but he rips it from her hands and drops it on the bench on which he had been sitting.

"Please don't touch me," she begs, tears welling in her eyes.

"Darlin', I intend to do _more_ than just touch you," he says, his voice a growl as he closes in on her.

"That's it," one of the five across the street makes up his mind and starts crossing. They noticed the situation shortly after she backed into Cenred.

"There he goes," one of his companions remarks, rolling his eyes.

Halfway across the street, he sees the small woman raise her knee sharply into Helios' groin. He grins as he watches the large man drop to the bench, doubled over, his hands clutching himself.

"Oh!" Gwen cries out as Cenred spins her around. He reaches back and slaps her. Hard.

Gwen's hand flies to her stinging cheek, soundless sobs wracking her just as Cenred is bodily flung away from her. She gasps in shock. _What now?_

"Oi, Cenred, ain't your mum taught you any manners? You do not hit a lady," a third voice says, but Gwen cannot make him out through her tears. He is just a black blur.

"Yeah, and what are you going to do about it, Drag?" Cenred spits back.

Gwen hears the squelchy crunch of a nose being broken by a well-aimed fist.

"Stay down or I'll crush your hand under my boot here. You won't be able to have a proper wank for at least a month."

"Piss off, Drag," Helios croaks from his spot on the bench, where he is slowly recovering.

"Helios, if you have a brain in that big bald head o' yours, you'll keep your gob shut before I make sure your bollocks are permanently wedged inside your body cavity," the man says, smacking Helios on the back of the head before retrieving Gwen's shopping from the bench.

He carefully approaches Gwen and gently pulls her away from her two assailants. "Are you all right, miss?" he asks, the tone of his voice changing from razors to velvet, his hand warm and comforting on her elbow, where his thumb absentmindedly strokes the soft flesh there.

"I… I think so, mostly just scared. Thank you…"

"Drag," he supplies. _She's trembling. But I don't want to scare her further by putting my arms around her._

She wipes her eyes and looks at him. _He's one of the ruffians I'd been avoiding. Punks._ She surveys him quickly, noting his low-slung torn black jeans with a wide belt dotted with silver studs, his black t-shirt emblazoned with _The Sex Pistols_ across the front, his pierced ears and nose and a black Mohawk haircut. _Who pierces their nose?_

"Drag?" she asks, trying to distract herself, calm herself. _What an unfortunate name._

"Ain't my given name. It's from my last name, Pendragon."

"What's your real name?" she asks. _Why am I interested? He's just a punk._

"Arthur," he admits, pulling a face.

"Well, Arthur, I'm Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen." She wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and takes a deep breath.

"I like Guinevere much better," he says, a small half-smile curling the corner of his lips.

_His full lips, lips that look very kissable. What?_ "Why did you help me?" she asks suddenly. "I'm sorry… I should just be thanking you, not asking why," she backtracks, embarrassed at the question. _His hand is still holding my elbow. I really just want him to hold me and tell me everything is all right. Too much to hope, probably._

"Helios and Cenred are a couple of tossers. I couldn't just stand there and watch them do that to you," he says. _Not to you. Of all people._

Arthur has noticed Gwen every time she has walked down the street over the past month. He has noticed her long dark curls glinting in the sunlight. He has noticed her skin, the color of chocolate milk; skin that looks so soft and luxurious that he longs to touch it. All of it. He has noticed her slender, shapely limbs and lush curves. He has noticed that her smile makes the sun look gloomy. He has also noticed that she avoids him and his friends like the plague.

Time to put a stop to _that_ nonsense.

"How's your face?" he asks.

"It stings," she says, then gasps as Arthur reaches forward to wipe a dot of blood from the corner of her mouth. _Should his touch make my stomach flip like that?_

"Blood," he explains, showing her the evidence on his thumb, which has a silver ring on it. "If it makes you feel any better, I think I broke his nose," he smiles.

"I heard that," she manages a small smile.

"Can I… can I give you a lift home?" he asks.

"You don't have to, really, I'll be fine." _Yes, please._

"No, come on. Please," he asks. "I just want to know you've made it home safely," he adds, looking down at his feet.

_He is actually very sweet,_ Gwen thinks, looking down at his feet as well. _Scuffed black combat boots. Of course._ "If you insist," she gives in.

"I do at that. Come on," he slides his hand down her forearm and takes her hand to lead her across to his friends. "I want you to meet my mates first. That way you won't feel like you have to walk on the other side of the street when we're about."

"Oh, I…" she stammers. _He noticed._

He laughs it off. "I understand, really. I mean, look at us. If I were you I'd probably do the same. But you know what they say about judging books by their covers."

_Smart, too,_ she thinks, finding herself inexplicably drawn to this strange man. _There's something about him that makes me trust him. Like I know he won't let any harm come to me._

They reach the other four, who have been watching very intently since Arthur left them. "All right, you lot, best behavior," Arthur announces.

Gwen coughs as she approaches, the smell of cigarette smoke assaulting her lungs.

"Gwaine, put out that fag, will ya? Can't you see that our guest disapproves?" Arthur yanks the cigarette from his friend's lips and tosses it into the wet gutter, where it hisses, dead.

"Hey!" Gwaine protests.

"Lads, this is Guinevere," Arthur introduces her.

"Gwen," she corrects.

"Are you all right, Gwen?" one immediately asks, the concern plain on his face. He is tall and thin, with pale skin and bright blue eyes beneath black hair that is sticking out in spikes in every direction.

"I'll be fine, thanks to Ar— Drag," she says, catching herself. _Don't want to embarrass him in front of his mates._

"I'm Merlin," he says, holding out his hand, which she takes, noticing his fingernails seem to be painted black. _Where does one even find black nail polish?_ she wonders. "I have the unfortunate honor of being this clotpole's best mate," he laughs as Arthur thumps him lightly on the back of his head.

"This is Leon," Arthur says, pointing to a tall man with long, unruly reddish-brown curls in a white Clash t-shirt and blue jeans that appear to be held together exclusively by safety pins.

"And Ox," he indicates another man, just slightly taller than the strikingly tall Leon, and twice as wide. His body is thick with muscle beneath his black t-shirt bearing an anarchy symbol on the front and the sleeves ripped off to display his impressive arms. His hair is buzzed down very close to his head and he has a small silver hoop earring in one ear. He nods at her and smiles, and Gwen cannot help smiling back at the one real surprise: his sweet boyish face.

"Ox?" she questions.

The large man sighs. "My name is Percival, actually, which is bollocks for a name. And Percy sounds like a poof. So they call me Ox, on account of my last name being Oxley."

"And you're as big as one," Merlin points out, laughing, and Ox nods in agreement, grinning sheepishly.

"And…" Arthur motions toward the last man.

"Gwaine?" she supplies, turning her smile from Percival to Gwaine.

"At your service," he says with a wink, his long dark hair falling in his face. He reaches up and sweeps it back, and Gwen sees a large tattoo covering his entire arm. It appears to be of Celtic knot patterns, surrounding his arm like a sleeve.

"Like it?" he asks, seeing her looking at it.

"It's… interesting," she says, leaning forward for a better view.

"Drag did it," he nods at Arthur. Gwen blinks in surprise. _He tattoos people? Does _he_ have any?_

"Oh," she says, at a loss for words.

"All right. Now you know us, so you don't have to be worried walking past," Arthur says.

"In fact, _do_ walk on our side of the street. We'll protect you," Leon adds. It sounds corny, but Gwen cannot help but believe him when she looks up and sees the earnest expression on his face.

She looks at the others, who nod in agreement. She smiles again at them. "Knights in shining… chains and safety pins, yes?" she says, a little cautiously, not sure how they'll react to the tease.

She breathes again when they laugh and nod, muttering agreeable comments amongst themselves.

"I'm going to take Guinevere home; make sure she's all right and un-accosted by any other wankers like Helios and Cenred. Catch you later," Arthur says, waving his free hand at them just before taking Gwen's hand again to lead her toward a nearby alley. He still has her groceries in one arm.

"Un-accosted," he hears Gwaine mutter as they walk away. "Un-accosted by someone other than _him_, he means," he says suggestively, laughing. Merlin shushes him as Arthur shoots him a dirty look over his shoulder.

"Here we are," he says, indicating a large black and red motorcycle hulking menacingly in the nearby alley. "Guinevere, this is Morgana," Arthur says, carefully placing Gwen's grocery bag into a leather saddlebag on one side of the bike.

"Morgana? You named your motorcycle?"

"I did," he says, swinging his long, lean leg over the machine and hoisting it upright. "Can you manage in that dress?"

Gwen is wearing a flowing floral-patterned lavender sundress. The skirt is long and full, so she gathers it up in her hands and gingerly swings her leg over the seat behind Arthur. She adjusts the material as best she can, propriety fully intact. "Okay, I think I'm good."

"Hmm," he turns slightly, looking at her. _So much bare skin._ "There's a leather jacket tucked behind you. Put it on, please."

"Why?"

"Safer for you. You're… too exposed," he motions to her shoulders, eyes dropping to her tantalizing chest for the briefest of moments. _It would be a crime to mar that beautiful skin should we take a spill._

"Um, okay," she reaches behind her and pulls out a black leather jacket and shrugs it on over her shoulders. It's too big, but she cannot help feeling comforted by its presence. _It smells good. Not like smoke or anything._ "You don't smoke," she comments.

"How can you tell?" he asks.

"Your jacket smells good," she shyly says.

He chuckles. "Check the pockets. You'll find my vice in there."

Her eyes widen as she cautiously pokes her fingers in a pocket. They slowly withdraw a packet of sweets.

"Candy?" she laughs.

"Sugar junkie, me," he grins, then turns his attention back to his bike. He attempts to start it up. It sputters briefly, then nothing.

"Is there a real Morgana? Like, a human?" she asks, finding herself hoping that there isn't.

"Yeah," he says, stomping the bike to life again. This time it almost takes. "She's my sister."

"You named your motorcycle after your sister?"

He attempts a third time, and the engine catches, the noise deafening. Three seconds later, it conks out again.

"Yes. Because they both can be quite a bitch when they want to," he explains, trying a fourth time, and Gwen's laughter is drowned out by the roar of the engine as it fires up and takes.

"Hang on," he hollers over his shoulder, and Gwen bites her lower lip as she slides her hands around Arthur's waist.

_He's got a nice body,_ she notes, feeling a firm stomach under her hands, a muscular back in front of her.

Arthur, keenly aware of her body pressed against his back, puts the bike in gear and heads out of the alley, following Gwen's pointed directions to her flat.

"So."

"Um."

"Yes."

"Thank you again, Arthur."

"Any time, Guinevere."

She looks up at him a moment. She quickly lifts up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek before sweeping past him with her bag to hurry up the steps to her door.

_Oh well. She'll be passing again._ He turns back to his bike.

"Arthur?"

He turns, not sure he's heard her, her voice was so soft.

"Would you like something to eat? I was going to make myself some brunch," she indicates her shopping, biting her lip nervously. _Why am I inviting him in? Why is my heart pounding like a bass drum?_

_Yes, please. I'll stay for dinner, too, if you would but ask._ "Sure," he says, removing the key from the ignition and shoving it in his pocket.

"Consider it my way of properly thanking you," she says as he hops up the steps, skipping every other one. _Some other options are occurring to me as well, though…_

"Not necessary, but I am hungry," he grins at her. _And I can think of another way you can properly thank me._

xxx

"Arthur," Gwen gasps as his lips connect with her neck, kissing a hot, wet trail from her ear to her collarbone, sending a thrill through her center. She reaches up and caresses the side of his head, the bare stubble there tickling her fingers as she gently holds him against her.

_How did I end up beneath him on my couch, kissing like we're both desperate for each other? Oh, that's right. I invited him in for brunch. Brunch that never got made, because he said my name and my knees turned to water and he came up behind me and kissed the side of my neck and my whole body cried out for him like a starved person who has just been offered a five-course meal._

Arthur mumbles something against the skin of her neck as his hand finds her breast, making her arch against him, craving the contact. The thin material of her dress suddenly feels too restrictive, too thick, too unnecessary, and she sighs as he slides one of the straps down her shoulder, kissing it as he does so.

His lips return to hers, soft and pliable and feeling just as good as she imagined they would. _No, better._ His warm tongue probes the interior of her mouth deliciously, meeting hers and yielding to it as she takes her turn to explore his mouth some more.

_He tastes so sweet, so good._ Her hands rove his back, and she feels more evidence of that well-muscled torso beneath his t-shirt. She bunches the material in her fists, pulling on it slightly.

Arthur gets the hint and sits back for just a moment, kneeling between her knees amongst the bunched-up skirts of her dress, his storm-colored eyes searing into hers as he yanks the shirt off over his head, revealing to Gwen the beautifully muscled chest she was anticipating.

That, and a large, exquisitely detailed tattoo of a red and gold dragon wrapped around his left shoulder.

"Wow," she says, reaching up to touch it. _I've never seen anything like it. It's… _"Beautiful," she says, finishing her thought aloud.

He smiles warmly down at her, his eyes passion-dark. _I'm glad she likes it._ He reaches down with his hand, and caresses her cheek. "Beautiful," he echoes softly, and she pulls him back down to her waiting lips.

She moans as he kisses her to near-mindlessness, reaching up to slide the other strap of her dress down. Her hands rove his chest, slipping downward towards his belt.

He smiles against her lips just as she has a moment of pause. "Wait," she says, her hands stilling at his belt.

He stops immediately, sitting back again, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry, I…"

"No, I'm sorry," she says, scooting back to sit more upright. _Wow. I only had to tell him once, and he stopped._ "I… I just don't want you to think…"

"I don't."

She smiles, and sighs. "You want to wait until you hear what I'm going to say?"

"Proceed, my lady," he waves his hand.

"I don't want you to think that I'm just doing this out of gratitude, or… that I'm easy or loose. I'm not."

He listens silently, politely, twining his fingers with hers. "I don't think that at all."

"Because I honestly _never…_"

"I know."

"I've let you get further today than most of the men I've dated have ever gotten, actually. I'm a—"

"A good girl," he finishes. "I _know._" He reaches over and caresses her cheek.

"I just don't want you to think less of me."

"Guinevere," he says quietly, "I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you walk down that street. A month ago. And now that I know that you are as beautiful inside as you are outside," his thumb traces her cheekbone, "I don't think there's anything that could sully my opinion of you."

She turns her face into his palm, and he adds, "I mean, unless you turn out to be a bloke in drag or something."

She laughs suddenly, and his face lights up at the sound and sight of her laughter. He bites his lower lip, slowly releasing it as he gazes at her.

_How can he make what is surely an unconscious habit look so incredibly sexy?_ she thinks, blushing and looking down at her lap.

His fingertips touch her chin, lifting her face. "We can stop if you want to."

She smiles and takes his hand in hers, bringing his fingers to her lips, kissing them sweetly. She bites one fingertip lightly, then guides it down to her breast.

"Or not," he says, his voice breaking.

She leans forward and kisses him. "I think I just needed to know that you _would_ if I asked," she whispers, pulling him back down over her.

"Your wish is forever my command," he whispers just before he claims her lips with his once again. She brings her hands up to his head, her fingers bumping into the impenetrable three-inch wall of hair bisecting his scalp.

"Your… hair is very… uncooperative," she says between kisses.

He chuckles against her lips. "It used to be… longer."

Her hands leave his head and she returns them to his belt, unfastening it this time as he trails down her neck again and he starts pulling at her dress. "Which way does this go?" he complains, not knowing which direction to pull.

"Here," she says, sitting up again, kissing him as she does so. She wriggles the dress out from beneath her and pulls it off over her head, tossing it to the floor.

"Oh," he sighs, gazing down at her body. "Bloody hell," his appreciation voiced in a soft curse, and he dives back in, his hands running along the skin he has so longed to touch, his lips capturing one of her breasts, bringing forth a sweet whimper from her lips.

She forgets herself for a short time, enjoying his attention, then remembers his trousers, reaching back down to unfasten them. She shoves at them impatiently, and he lifts his head.

"Careful, Love," he cautions, nibbling her lips a bit.

She understands his warning when she realizes that he isn't wearing any underwear. "Oh. Yes, I see," she laughs.

Arthur kisses her again, then stands briefly to pull his jeans off, returning to her in no time.

He delves into her breasts again, closing his lips around a taut nipple, coaxing it stiffer, more excited, more sensitive. One hand drags down to trace a finger at the edge of her scant knickers, plain white but attractive and alluring nevertheless.

"Yes, Arthur," she gasps, encouraging the hand to slip inside and touch her, the sensation like lightning shot through her spine.

"My stupid name actually sounds _good_ when you say it," he mutters against the skin of her breasts, teasing the skin there with his lips, relishing the sensation of her skin against them.

"Arthur," she moans again, a plea, a prayer, as he pushes his hand in further to slide a finger inside her, warm and slick.

She helps him remove the last barrier between them, which he flings across the room. She slides her thighs along the outside of his hips, enticing him, as she reaches down with her hand to touch him.

"Oh, God," he groans as her slender fingers trace the contours of his manhood, and he loses his mind just a little.

Gwen starts to guide him home, gently encouraging him. He resists a moment, asking, "Do we need…"

"I'm on the pill," she gasps, arching up against him again, her need for him making her quite bold.

"In that case…" he says, kissing her passionately as he pushes forward, sliding into her. She breaks the kiss, moaning softly and pressing her head back into the throw pillow beneath it.

Arthur moves swiftly but gently, his tender lovemaking a welcome surprise for Gwen. _I would have expected him to be rougher, but he really is full of surprises._ She grips his shoulders, his neck, clinging to him, bringing her leg around his hip.

He leans back, grabs the leg and carefully moves it around, in front of him, resting it against his chest as he resumes thrusting, her delicate foot against his shoulder.

"Oh… ah…" she moans, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his stomach.

He caresses her leg, up to her thigh, her backside, before turning his head to kiss her foot.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, her eyes flying open in surprise as she feels his tongue on her toes, sucking at them as he moves, adding an unexpectedly pleasurable layer of sensation.

Arthur slows his movements, drawing them out, torturing her as he continues to nibble and suck at her toes.

"Yes," she sighs, stretching her body beneath him, grabbing his waist, his hips, anything she can reach, spurring him forward again, faster again.

"Faster?" he asks seductively, his hand trailing at her leg and he feels goosebumps rise on her soft skin.

"Yes!" she gasps, digging her fingers in where her hands rest at his hips.

He gently lowers her leg back around him and moves faster, harder, throwing his head back for a moment before tucking his head into her neck with a delicious growl. _She feels so damn good, I can't hold on much longer._

Gwen starts to cry out, her body quivering beneath him. She reaches up for his hands, threading her fingers through his, squeezing tightly as she screams in ecstasy, digging her nails into the backs of his hands.

_Wow _is Arthur's last coherent thought before he drops down over her again, her hands still in his. He leans on their joined hands, pinning them on either side of her head. He crashes his lips onto hers as he releases into her, his whole body tense and taut. She sucks at his lips, and he feels as though she is drawing as much of him into her as she can.

Panting and slightly dizzy, he pulls his lips away with a gentle pecked kiss before gathering her in his arms as he relaxes over her.

xxx

Arthur blinks his eyes open and looks at the clock on the bedside table. 11:15 p.m. He looks down at Gwen's sleeping form in his arms. _So sweet. So wonderful._

_I could stay here all night and the rest of my life._ They did eventually eat, but they spent most of the day getting to know each other in every way possible. They talked. A lot. He chuckles, remembering how she busted him about really having blonde hair, pointing to his eyebrows and chest hair as evidence. They made love three more times, eventually landing in her bedroom, where they both fell asleep just over an hour ago, blissfully spent.

_Bugger. Iggy. Bloody cat. I have to go home, or he'll have my place a big mess._ He looks longingly down at Gwen again, and his heart hurts, wanting to stay. _I don't want her to think I'm taking off, never to return. Fucking cat._

Arthur eases himself out of the bed, gently kissing her forehead. She frowns and curls into the space he's created, then settles back in with a sigh.

_Pee. Then trousers._ He pads through her small flat, finding his clothes after emptying his bladder. Back in her bedroom, he looks down at her, illuminated by the small bedside lamp they'd never gotten around to turning off.

Struck, he goes in search of a sheet of paper and a pencil.

xxx

_Dearest Guinevere,_

_Thank you for the amazing day. I _promise_ you I am not bailing on you. I have an ill-tempered arse of a cat that I need to go home and feed before he destroys the place. Yes, I _know_ how it sounds. But honest, I have a cat. His name is Iggy. That's the truth, and I ain't lion._

Gwen bursts out laughing at the unexpectedness of him making such a ridiculously horrible corny joke.

_I've left my number below, but you know where to find me._

_Love,_

_Arthur_

_P.S. You look breathtakingly beautiful when you are sleeping._ -

She turns the page over. He's sketched her while she slept. She sighs, her hand on her madly thumping heart, as she scans the drawing.

_It's gorgeous. He's captured every detail. The wrinkles in the sheets, every curl, every curve, every eyelash. The shadows falling at my hip, my shoulder. My kiss-swollen lips, slightly parted, my fingers clutching the edge of the blanket._

Gwen caresses the picture, careful not to smudge the pencil strokes. Then she flips it back over, and reaches for the phone to dial the numbers he's written at the bottom.

**Song suggestion: "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by The Clash. Not entirely applicable, but do you know how hard it is to find a suitable punk song?**

**This chapter is dedicated to my dear friends Mike, Mike, Seth, Seth, Kyle, and Chad, without whom the concept of a punk rock exterior combined with a lovely, sweet, chivalrous interior might never have been born from my brain. None of them will ever read this, but they were in my thoughts as I was writing about our knights. And they were 1990s punks, not 1970s. I may be old, but I'm not THAT old.**


	10. Royal Wedding

**I take full and unalloyed responsibility for the massive delay in this series. Life tackled me and we were moving across the country and I'm terribly disorganized and Baroness Morgana will punish me for a long time...wait...I lost my train of thought. Enjoy!**

**July 29th, 1981**

**The Wedding Day of Lady Diana Spencer and Charles, Prince of Wales**

"Gwennie! C'mon, it's starting!"

Gwen glanced once more at the stubbornly silent telephone before padding over to the living room

_Why hasn't he rung?_

Her best mate Morgs was pouring out the tea.

"And my kitchen remains intact," Gwen remarked.

Morgs stuck her tongue out and pushed a cup towards her.

"Oh! I forgot the biscuits," Gwen jumped up.

"What biscuits?" her father Tom looked up.

"These," she produced the shiny blue tin with a flourish. The buttery tea biscuits were carefully folded in tissue paper, each shaped and engraved perfect as coins. A splurge to be sure, but they were her father's favorite.

Tom's eyes lit up, but he frowned, "Gwennie, these are pricey."

Morgana was chewing on two already, "And delicious"

Gwen put a hand on her father's arm, "It's nothing, dad. Besides, it's not everyday the future King gets married is it?"

He smiled and patted her head with a trembling hand while she adjusted the blanket across his lap. His health had never recovered after the severe pneumonia last year.

"How are you Gwennie?" he asked quietly

"I'm fine dad."

"Has he -,"

"No," her voice was soft yet firm and Tom took the hint.

"Oooh! Look she's getting out of the carriage," Morgana almost upset her tea pointing at the telly.

The Lady Diana Spencer was indeed alighting at the steps of in a cloud of silk taffeta and crinoline. Her bouquet was a lavish cascade of assorted blooms, like the wreath of a spring goddess.

Gwen had always wanted a smaller bouquet herself, some lilies or purple hydrangeas like her mother had.

She felt the prick of tears behind her eyes and the memory that was responsible for her sleepless nights flashed quick as a blade. The woman's white teeth in her ruby lips, Arthur's shocked expression in the slanting rain. Was it guilt that twinged his blue eyes? She hadn't bothered to find out.

Gwen stole another glance at the phone, but it mocked her with silence. She wiped the stray tear swiftly before anyone saw.

_Damn you Arthur Pendragon_

xxx

"Damn you, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur peered into the depths of his lager, wondering if one could drown in a pint, "I get it Elliot, I'm a useless wanker and you're regretting the day you introduced me to your sister."

Merls sighed, "I don't understand why you won't just come clean. You're acting like a schoolboy. A prattish schoolboy I might add."

Times were dire indeed when even your best mates lost patience with you.

A schoolboy. It was the perfect descriptor in many ways. He remembered the first time he saw Gwen, at their weekly football match when she'd dropped off some sandwiches for Elliot, in her soft lavender frock with the white buttons, her curls all tousled from the breeze. She'd raised a slim brown hand to shade her eyes, and when their gazes met Arthur grew mesmerized by the shy smile parting her lips and got himself tackled by Percy.

Their courtship was headlong and sweet and passionate and wonderful. Gwen was everything he could dream of and more. He admired the way she cared for her ailing father and upbraided Elliott when he got too sloshed, and he loved though could never fathom how she spent hours arranging flowers, and he cherished how her eyes lit up when she talked of living in London someday.

Arthur wanted to give her the world, starting with a beautiful engagement ring.

"Look! she's getting out of the carriage," Percy exclaimed. The incongruity of his huge muscular arms and his excitement about the Royal wedding was unremarked on at the pub, mostly due to the effect of said muscular arms.

Arthur looked up as Lady Diana trailed her majestic gown up the cathedral steps, her veil misting softly over a young but serene face. He had the sudden thought that she reminded him of Guinevere: the same shy grace and easy elegance.

Working at the garage wasn't much money, but it was steady work and Arthur was determined to prove that he could provide Gwen the finer things she loved. She never complained, nor did she demand expensive gifts. But sometimes he would catch her looking longingly at dresses in the window, or paging through a magazine about the Royal nuptials with a wistful smile on her face.

_She shouldn't be with a chap like me anyhow._

She should marry some Covent Garden bloke whose hands weren't covered with grease at the end of every day. Someone who can buy her all the lavender dresses in the world so she wouldn't have to keep mending the one she loved.

He downed his larger and pushed off. "You lads have fun, I'm off."

Merls followed him out, "Why don't you ring her? I'm sure she just wants an explanation."

Arthur shook his head in frustration, "You didn't see the way she looked at me, mate. I've done some things I'm not proud of in my time, but the look on her face when she saw-,"

"Well to be perfectly fair she thought she was seeing you with another woman."

An edge of bitterness crept in his voice, "As if I could even look at anyone else."

"Have you told her this?" Merls pointed out.

Arthur scowled. He hated when Merls was right, but expressing his feelings were difficult even in the best of times. That's why he'd worked so hard to afford the ring. The bloody jewel was supposed to do the talking.

They both spotted her then, her pale red-lipped face unmistakable. Nimueh Rochester.

Merls grabbed his arm. "You are going to stop being a dollophead and set this right. Come on."

xxx

Her dad started nodding off halfway through the ceremony. Gwen brushed some biscuit crumbs off his shirt and adjusted his blanket.

"You can stop pretending you know."

She avoided Morgs' eyes and poured herself more tea, "What do you mean?"

"I mean the way you keep glancing secretly at the phone every few minutes thinking I won't notice. I mean that glum look on your face like you watched a puppy getting strangled. Admit it, you miss him and want to see him."

Gwen set her cup down carefully, weighing her words. Her hand shook and some tea sloshed over. She wondered why the serviette was so blurry and realized she was crying.

Morgs leaned over and put an arm around her, "Oh Gwen. It's alright to think of yourself once in a while."

The doorbell made them both look up.

"I'll get it," Morgs loped off while she hurriedly wiped her face.

"Get out," she heard Morgs say from the foyer.

"Morgana just let me-,"

"Get out or I'll show you out with a kitchen knife."

Gwen rushed out to find her best friend glaring bloody murder at the man she thought she'd lost.

"It's alright Morgi."

Morgs reluctantly stood aside, though her eyes never stopped snapping.

Arthur looked terrible. Circles ringed his eyes and he had a pallor as if he hadn't eaten. A rush of emotion filled Gwen's throat and she struggled between wanting to brush the falling blond locks away to kiss his forehead and hurling the nearest heavy object at his skull.

"Gwen, I just wanted to say-,"

A feminine figure stepped in behind him, all immaculate dark hair against striking pale skin.

"What is _she _doing here?" Gwen struggled to keep her voice steady.

"Please, let me explain," the pale brunette interspersed smoothly, "My name is Nimueh Rochester, and I work at Garrards, in London. It's a jeweler's -,"

"I know what Garrards is," Gwen snapped.

"Maybe we should all step inside -," Merls began, but Gwen silenced him with a glare. "Miss Leogrance," Nimueh started again, "I've been meeting with Arthur for the past 3 months-,"

"Three months?" she turned to Arthur, "Three whole months?"

"Gwen," he pleaded, "just let her finish. Please." Those smoke-blue eyes pleaded with her, and Gwen acquiesced with a tired sigh.

"I'll cut to the chase," Nimueh reached in her coat and handed Arthur a small black box, "We haven't been meeting for trysts Miss Leogrance. A year ago I crashed my work car and needed it fixed. Discreetly. Your boyfriend was kind enough to help me out, and so these past months we've been discussing how I can return the favor."

Gwen turned to Arthur, her heart pounding with fear and hope and nervousness, "Arthur-?" but he was sinking awkwardly to his knees, opening the box before her. She heard Morgs gasp.

Nestled in plush grey velvet was the most magnificent ring she'd ever seen: a queenly amethyst set in a delicate crown of gold. She looked up from the stone and suddenly her eyes filled with tears again.

"Guinevere, from the moment I saw you there hasn't been anyone else. I wanted this to be perfect but now-,"

"Miss Thomas," Nimueh said gently, "When you saw us together, that day at the garage, I was congratulating Arthur on having finished the final payment on this ring. That's all."

Suddenly it all made sense. The weeks of working late, the strange secretiveness, all of it.

"Is this why you missed Dad's birthday?" of all the things she'd imagined responding with to a proposal of marriage, those words were definitely not on the list.

Arthur nodded sheepishly "I wanted to pay the ring off as soon as possible, so I've been taking as many shifts as I can. I want to marry you, Gwen. If you'll still have me that is."

Gwen glanced at the ring again. It was beautiful, elegant, regal: the ring of her dreams, incongruous in Arthur's large calloused hands. Suddenly she thought of the endless hours he must've put in, the torn fingernails that never had a chance to heal, the way his strong fingers could be both tender and protective when they cupped her face.

With four pairs of eyes on her, Gwen Leogrance did the first thing that felt right. She knocked the box out of his hands and she was in arms and he smelled of beer and mint and the comforting Arthur scent she loved and the tears choked her words.

"Is that a yes?" he sounded confused and hopeful.

"Oh, sorry," she laughed through her sniffling, "Yes, yes, yes. I never wanted a bleeding fancy ring Arthur Pendragon, so you can take it back and get your money."

"Take it back?"

"Yes. Let's go on a lovely honeymoon instead."

His smile matched hers and he swept her up in his arms, twirling her briefly before setting her down. Then his lips crashed down on hers and she no longer cared that they stood in an open doorway with her friends watching because Arthur's kisses had always made the world slip out from under her.

There was another kiss taking place on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, but none of them would lament missing it.

**Music: 'Your Song' by Elton John (sue me I love the song ok)**


	11. Seattle

**This is my last segment for this work, so I pulled out all the stops. It's long, but it had to be. Hope you enjoy! -k.**

**Seattle, WA, 1994**

MONDAY

"Arthur, you don't even like coffee," Merlin says, confused, following Arthur inside a small storefront coffee house. He looks around the place. It appears to have just opened for the day, as there are no customers yet and everything is spotless.

"You're late," they hear a smoky feminine voice say from somewhere behind the counter. "Usually you're in before I've even turned the sign over. I was beginning to wonder if you were at home sick or something."

"His fault," Arthur says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at Merlin as a cute, petite woman emerges from behind a large espresso machine.

_Aha,_ Merlin thinks as he sees her. In the midst of pulling long dark curls back into a ponytail, she is wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a simple t-shirt with a large script _G_ on the front – the name of the coffee house – and an apron at her waist. She smiles at Arthur and does her best to disguise her surprise at seeing him with a companion. "Who's fault?"

"His. My friend Merlin, freshly arrived here from Ireland," Arthur says.

"Nice to meet you, Merlin. At least I know _your_ name," she says, looking pointedly at Arthur with a smirk on her face.

"Oh! I, um… yeah. I guess I'm in here every day and I've never given you my name, have I?" Arthur blushes.

"No, you haven't. Merlin, I'm Guinevere, but my friends call me Gwen," she says. "Welcome to my little headache."

Merlin laughs and holds out his hand across the counter for her to shake. "Well, Gwen, since we are friends now, I'll introduce you," he grins. "Gwen, this is Arthur, a man with apparently very few manners."

"Hello, Arthur, nice to finally meet you officially," she says.

"Nice to meet you, Guinevere," he says, taking her soft slender hand in his.

"Now, Merlin: what can I get for you?" she asks, slowly pulling her hand from Arthur's as if she doesn't really want to let go.

"Just plain black coffee. Is that possible in a swank place like this?"

She laughs and quirks her head to the side, "I thought all you British Isle types drank tea," she says.

"Not me. I got hooked on this stuff when I was here last time," Merlin says.

"Very well, _plain_ coffee it is," she says, turning. She turns back and asks, "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to make you something more interesting?"

Merlin shakes his head no while Arthur laughs. _His eyes haven't left her since she appeared, _Merlin notices.

"Aren't you going to take Arthur's order?" he asks.

"I know what he wants," she calls back.

_Do you?_ Merlin quirks his eyebrow at Arthur, a knowing smirk crossing his face.

"Shut up," Arthur mutters, surreptitiously watching her work. _Why can't I ask her out?_ He is frustrated, coming in every day, drawn to the sweet woman behind the counter, yet he can never seem to muster up the courage to ask her out. _Which is weird. I'm a freaking lawyer. I laugh in the face of nervousness. But in the face of Guinevere? I shrink._

"Here we are," Gwen says a moment later, producing two thick paper cups. "Boring – I mean plain black coffee for the new guy with the awesome accent," she hands him his cup, "and skim milk hot cocoa, no whipped cream, for my new old friend Arthur," she says, handing him his.

Arthur takes the cup from her with a shy smile, and takes a sip. "Mmm… what did you put in this?" he asks.

"Cinnamon. Do you like it? I just did it on a whim," she asks, biting her lower lip.

"I do," he says, taking another drink. _Cinnamon. An apt description for her; spicy and sweet all at once._ "Crap," he says, seeing his wristwatch as he lifts his cup to his lips. "We're going to be late. How much do we owe?"

Gwen waves her hand at them. "It's on me," she says, smiling at them. _Mostly at Arthur,_ Merlin notices.

"No, I can't let you…" Arthur argues.

"Do not insult me, now, I'm trying to welcome your friend to America and you're making me look bad," she warns, but her eyes are twinkling.

He sighs. "Thank you, Guinevere. Come on, Merlin," he says, gently pushing Merlin on the shoulder, guiding him out the door.

"See you tomorrow," he turns back and calls to her.

"I'll be here," she says, smiling at him.

"Bet you'd like to be _on her_," Merlin mutters suggestively to Arthur as they walk to the door.

"Shut up, Merlin."

As they exit, another customer approaches to enter, a tall man with a neatly-trimmed short beard and tousled brown curls.

"Hey," he says to Arthur.

"How's it goin'?" Arthur answers back, allowing the man to pass.

Merlin watches the man go by. "Who is that?"

"No idea. He comes in every couple days or so and we usually bump into each other in the doorway," he answers. He lifts his eyebrows at Merlin. "Why ever do you want to know, as if I need to ask?"

"Hey, I can look," Merlin says defensively.

"Slut," Arthur teases back. He glances back to see the man looking back out in their direction as well.

TUESDAY

"Ah, good morning, boys," Gwen says to them as Arthur and Merlin walk through the door, this time at Arthur's usual time. She is casually strolling back behind the counter, having just turned the sign in the window from _Closed_ to _Open._

"Good and rainy, yes," Arthur says, shaking the excess water from his umbrella before placing it in the umbrella stand near the door. _She looks really cute today,_ he thinks, though she is wearing pretty much the same thing she always wears. But today her hair is in a braid down her back.

"Well, that's Seattle for you," she shrugs. "Merlin, same again, or will you let me get a little more creative?"

"No, same," he grins.

She makes a small growling noise, shaking her head in frustration. With a sigh, she asks him, "So, how long are you visiting for?"

"Indefinitely, I hope," he says, glancing at Arthur. "Provided I can get licensed to practice law in this country. And this state."

"You're a lawyer?" she asks, peeking out from behind the machines.

"We both are," he motions to Arthur.

"And you will not have any problems getting licensed. Especially with my father's influence behind you," Arthur says. His voice is confident, but Gwen can hear that he isn't exactly pleased by his father having said "influence."

_Redirect._ "Found a place to live yet?" she asks.

"I'm staying with Arthur," he says.

"Oh," she says, coming out with their cups. "Ohhhhh…." she repeats, her tone changing to one of realization as she looks again at the two men, who are obviously close and quite comfortable with each other. _Shit. He's gay. Why are all the hot ones gay?_

Merlin chuckles at this while Arthur looks from him to Gwen and back. "Am I missing something?"

"She thinks we're gay," Merlin says, still laughing.

"Hey, whatever makes you happy; I don't judge," she says, holding her hands up before turning quickly away to wipe at a nonexistent spot on the counter behind her before they see the disappointment on her face.

"I'm not gay," Arthur says, as if it should be obvious.

_Hooray!_ "Still not judging," Gwen jokes, her back to them, smiling widely now.

"I am," Merlin casually chimes in.

"Hey, fifty percent correct, then," Gwen turns back to them. "So if you're not _together,_ and you've just moved here from Ireland, how is it that you know each other so well? 'Cause it's obvious you do. Are you related? Oh, six thirty-one," she says, ringing their order.

Arthur hands her a ten and says, "Not really. Merlin was a foreign exchange student back in high school. My father and I were his host family. We're very different, but we somehow get along. We kept in touch after he went back to Ireland, and now he's decided to come back."

"Well, they say that opposites attract. It applies to friendship as well, you know," Gwen says with a nod, giving him his change. Arthur drops it all in the tip jar. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she sighs, giving him a reproachful look. "Every damn time," she explains to Merlin.

"My money. I can do what I want with it," Arthur says, smiling a little.

They meet the tall man again on their way out, and once again exchange mild pleasantries. Arthur can't help notice that the man smiles pointedly at Merlin this time.

WEDNESDAY

"Why don't you just ask her out?" Merlin gives Arthur a shove as they walk to the coffee house.

"She probably has a boyfriend. And besides, that would be weird, wouldn't it? Asking the coffee house girl out? What would I say, 'Would you like to get some coffee?' Oh, wait, she's around coffee _all day._"

"Arthur, you're freaking out. And what's wrong with asking her out to dinner? Honestly, is this the same Arthur Pendragon that dated two girls at the same time back in school without either of them finding out? Since when do you have no confidence?"

"I don't know. She just makes me… tongue-tied. I can make casual conversation, but the things I really want to say just get… stuck. I want to tell her things, tell her how adorable she is, how much I want to take her places—"

"Like your bed," Merlin interrupts.

"Show her things," he presses on.

"Like your—"

"_Take her in my arms_," Arthur cuts off Merlin's words, "and kiss her until neither of us can remember our names."

Merlin stops. They are just outside the door. "Wow. You've got it bad." Arthur glares at him. "I'll shut up now."

They get their usual order, and Arthur pays too much, as usual.

Gwen's eyes widen as she looks at them. "Oh! I know what I was going to ask you guys. Don't move," she says, scurrying into a back room.

Unprompted, Merlin and Arthur instantly freeze in their places, Arthur leaning on the counter, Merlin with his cup half-raised to his lips.

Gwen comes back out with a small platter in her hands. She sees the two men frozen like two ridiculous statues and bursts out laughing.

They move again, laughing with her. _She has a fantastic laugh,_ Arthur thinks. He tries to say it aloud, but the words won't come.

"I'm thinking about adding some bakery to the menu. I'd like it if you'd be my guinea pigs," she says, placing the platter on the counter.

"I'll be any kind of pig you want," Merlin teases as she hands him something.

"Scone. I want you especially to try this one, Merlin."

"Since I'm Irish?" he asks, taking a bite.

She nods. "Arthur, try this one. Blueberry muffin," she says, handing it to him.

"Um…" he hesitates.

"What?"

"He's allergic to blueberries," Merlin says, his mouth full. He snags the muffin from her hand.

"Oh! I was worried that you were afraid of my cooking!" she says, relieved. "Here. This one's banana. I promise it was nowhere near any blueberries at any time."

"Thank you, Guinevere," Arthur says. _Do it._ He reaches for the muffin and intentionally touches her fingers with his, a split-second caress. _Oh, my God. Did you feel that? Yes, I did._

"This scone is excellent. Tastes like the ones my Gran used to make," Merlin says, finishing the scone and diving in to the muffin.

Gwen isn't listening, because she's too busy looking at her hand. _It feels like I've been burned, but in a really good way._ "What?" she shakes her head a little to clear the fog.

"I said your scone reminds me of my Gran's," Merlin repeats, smirking. _She likes him, too. This is too easy._

Arthur is destroying his muffin, breaking off chunks and popping them into his mouth. "This is excellent," he says, taking a sip of his cocoa. "I like the streusel topping," he adds, picking some off and popping it in his mouth.

"My favorite part, too," she smiles.

Just then the door opens and the tall bearded man enters. Arthur looks up. "It's that late already?"

"What, is Leon your alarm clock?" Gwen jokes. "Hey, Leon," she waves.

"Hey, cuz," he waves back, sitting at a table with his newspaper.

"He's your cousin?" Merlin whispers to Gwen, glancing over at Leon.

She nods, an impish smile slowly crossing her face. "He's early today, actually, so you're probably fine," she says, glancing at the clock.

"We probably should get going anyway," Arthur says, studying the half-eaten bakery in his hand. "Oh, and I vote yes on the baked goods."

"Me too," Merlin says, swallowing the last of the muffin. _For a skinny guy, he can really pack it away,_ Gwen thinks.

THURSDAY

"Do it. You know you want to," Merlin whispers into Arthur's ear.

They have just entered the coffee house to find Gwen attempting to hang a large dry-erase board on a nail advertising her new baked goods. Unfortunately, the nail is a little too high and she's having trouble snagging it with the wire on the back of the board. Too stubborn to go and retrieve a stepstool, she teeters on the tiptoes of her little purple Doc Martens, her compact body stretching as tall as it can, yet it is not enough.

Arthur takes a deep breath and walks up behind her. He reaches up and takes the board from her, lifting it up onto the nail, holding his breath because she is so close and smells so good.

"Thank you," she whispers, turning around, practically in his arms. _He is so close, so warm, so…_

"My pleasure," he says, his voice a quiet rumble as he looks down at her, his arms aching to hold her, his lips aching to kiss her.

_Just kiss me already, Arthur. Hell with it, I'm going to kiss him._ Gwen lifts her face to his when the door opens and Leon strides in, a lot earlier than usual.

The spell is broken and Arthur takes a step back, clearing his throat awkwardly. _I think she was about to kiss me._

Gwen is already behind the counter making drinks by the time they reach the counter.

"And a muffin as well, please," Arthur finally manages to speak. _Damn it damn it damn it damn it._

"What kind? Banana again? I've got apple cinnamon that turned out quite nicely."

Gwen looks down at the cup in her hand. Heart racing, she reaches for the purple Sharpie she keeps back there to write on the cups to keep the orders straight. Quickly she writes her phone number on Arthur's cup.

"I'll try one of those," Arthur says.

"I'll have another one of those scones," Merlin says.

Gwen comes out with two cups and two scones. She hands it all to Merlin.

"What…?"

"This is your coffee," she indicates one cup, "and this is Leon's cappuccino. And a scone for each of you. Take it over," she prompts.

Merlin's bright blue eyes widen in realization. "Why, you pushy little minx, you," he says, grinning.

"Time's wasting, Merlin; tick, tock…" she says, pointing to the watch on her wrist. He goes over to the table where Leon is sitting. Arthur and Gwen watch as Merlin introduces himself, apparently saying something funny, because Leon laughs and gestures for Merlin to join him.

"Playing matchmaker?" Arthur asks quietly.

"Perhaps," Gwen says, studiously keeping her eyes on her task. She brings Arthur his cocoa and muffin, taking care to keep the side of the cup where she's written her number facing away from him.

"Merlin's stuff is free, since I'm pushing him at my cousin," Gwen says, ringing him up, knowing that he's still going to overpay.

He laughs a little, glancing over at them. "They seem to be getting along," he comments.

She is watching Arthur, head quirked at an angle. "You need to laugh more," she says. "I've only heard it a few times. You should really make sure to do so more often."

"What?" he turns back to her, her beautiful face hitting him square in the heart. "Oh. I know that. Everyone tells me that I'm far too serious," he says with a half-smile. "That's part of why I keep Merlin around. He makes me laugh. Even when he's not trying to. _Especially_ when he's not trying to."

"He's a good friend, then," she says, reaching over and touching Arthur's hand, almost unconsciously. She only realizes what she's done when the jolt of lightning shoots up her arm at the contact. They both stare down at their hands for a second before she shyly retracts it again, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and turning away to putter at some random task, her heart beating furiously.

Merlin stands and shakes Leon's hand, holding it just a moment longer than necessary. He strolls back over to a slightly shaken Arthur, pointing at his watch. "Time to go, Cabbage Head."

"Have a good day, Arthur," Gwen says softly.

"Thank you, Guinevere, you, too."

Outside.

"She was _so_ going to kiss you," Merlin says.

"I know."

"She likes you."

"I know."

"What's that on your cup?" Merlin asks, pointing.

"What?" Arthur lifts his cup to eye level, turning it to see seven purple numbers carefully written on the side. He smiles.

"Looks like she's braver than you are."

"And how did you do with Leon?" Arthur asks, turning the tables.

"We exchanged numbers. He's really cute and totally sweet."

"Mmm."

"He's a musician."

Arthur looks at his friend. "Merlin, not again. Didn't you learn anything from that whole fiasco with that guitar player? The one that turned into a drug-addled psycho?"

Merlin waves him off. "No, no, Leon's a _proper_ musician. He's in the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, and teaches lessons."

"Oh really? He doesn't moonlight in a grunge band or anything like that?"

"I appreciate your concern, Arthur, but he plays the bassoon."

Later.

Merlin bursts into Arthur's office, an envelope in his hand. "Guess what I just got?"

"Publisher's Clearing House?" Arthur jokes.

"What?" Merlin asks, not understanding the reference.

"Never mind. What did you just got?"

"A courier just brought me _these_," Merlin pulls some tickets out of the envelope.

"Tickets. For what?"

"_Leon_ sent them over. They're for Saturday night," Merlin says excitedly.

"Well, well, it seemed you made quite an impression on your little clarinet player," Arthur says, taking the tickets to inspect them.

"Bassoon," Merlin corrects.

"Whatever. Three tickets? That's a strange number to send," Arthur comments, handing them back.

"Ah, but that's the best part," Merlin grins and hands Arthur a folded piece of paper.

Arthur sighs and unfolds it.

_Dear Merlin,_

_Please accept these tickets for Saturday's performance. I hope you don't already have plans; we're doing one of my favorite pieces. I've sent along 3 tickets because maybe this will encourage your friend to grow some balls and ask my cousin out. We can all grab a bite to eat after, if you want._

_It was great meeting you and I hope to see you again soon,_

_Leon_

"'Grow some balls?'" Arthur quotes.

"So now you have a _reason_ to ask her out," Merlin says.

"You were talking about me to him?"

"Arthur, it's so obvious. I didn't have to; he spotted it a week ago."

8:55 p.m.

_Go in, go in, go in._ Arthur is hopping around like a hyperactive child just outside of Gwen's coffee house. Out of sight from any of her windows, obviously. _Okay._ He peeks. _Empty._

He takes a deep breath and opens the door, silently thanking her for not having any bells hanging on it to alert her of his presence. He doesn't see her.

_Lock the door. _ _Turn the sign over. _He walks slowly in. _I should have brought some flowers or something. Where is she?_

He reaches the counter, trying fruitlessly to peek through the door leading to the back.

"Are you lost?"

He wheels around, her voice startling him. "I…"

"Someone has turned my sign over and locked my door. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" she asks, walking towards him.

"I…"

She is standing right in front of him, her hands on her hips. _Is she angry? I can't tell._

Arthur's body acts where his brain cannot. He steps in closer and brings his right hand up to her face, his fingers at her neck, his thumb stroking her cheek. Her lips part as he swoops down, closing his own lips over hers, kissing her softly, his other hand wrapping about her waist.

She melts in his embrace, lifting up onto her toes to press further into the kiss, her hands gripping his jacket, slightly damp from the light rain falling outside.

He reluctantly withdraws his lips from hers. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime," he says, the kiss freeing the restraints on his voice.

She laughs. Not unkindly, not mocking. Her laughter is genuine amusement at his following a kiss that left her weak with such an inane question. "If you hadn't asked me out soon, I was going to ask you," she says, her hand coming up to touch his face. "I thought the phone number on the cup would be a hint."

"Um, yeah, about that. I'm going to need that number again. Some over-ambitious member of the cleaning staff pitched my cup." _I love the way her hand feels on my face._

She laughs again. "I think that can be arranged. So do you have a specific time in mind to go out, or were you just taking a survey?" She toys with the edges of his jacket.

"Saturday. I suddenly seem to have symphony tickets."

"Leon sent some to Merlin, didn't he?" she asks knowingly.

He nods, and impulsively kisses her again. She is still in his arms and doesn't seem interested in leaving any time soon. "So Merlin will be there too. Leon sent a note saying something about dinner after, too. I guess it's a double date."

"I can't wait," she says, leaning forward to rest her head on his chest. "You smell good," she says. _You feel good, too. Right._

"You smell like coffee," he chuckles, tightening his arms around her.

She sighs. "I know." Looking up at him again, she asks, "What are they playing?"

"Huh?"

"The symphony." She leans up and kisses him. "What's the piece they are performing?"

"What did it say… something about spring. The Rite of Spring? Does that sound like something?"

Her face lights up. "Yes. You're going to love it."

"You know it?" he asks, toying with a loose curl.

"Mmm-hmm. Stravinsky. Great piece." She looks at him. "Are you hungry?"

He nods, finally releasing her.

"Come on," she says, taking his hand and pulling him behind the counter, to the door beyond. "I'll make us some dinner and we can watch _Fantasia_."

"_Fantasia?_"

"_The Rite of Spring_ is in it. Well, a shortened version. You can get a preview. Though you'll find it is _much_ better live."

"I'll watch anything, as long as I can watch it with you," he says, letting her lead him up a flight of stairs to her apartment above the shop.

She smiles back at him, pausing on the steps to turn and kiss him again. Her face is about level with his from her elevated position. Arthur eases her lips apart with his tongue, snaking in tentatively. She delicately touches his tongue with her own and then withdraws it, just a tease; a taste.

Arthur moans softly in the back of his throat and presses further, hungry for more. He can feel her lips smiling against his as she acquiesces, kissing him back with equal hunger, no longer teasing.

She is the one who breaks the kiss this time, reluctantly. She opens her eyes and stares into his. Both are breathing rapidly, heavily, lips parted as they regard each other. Predator and prey, but which is which?

"Maybe dinner and _Fantasia_ can wait," Gwen whispers, still braver than Arthur.

Without a word, Arthur grabs her and slings her over his shoulder, carrying her the rest of the way up to her small apartment.

FRIDAY

Merlin arrives fifteen minutes before the coffee house opens. He pounds on the door, waiting, a duffel bag in his hand.

He peers through the glass, his hands cupped around his eyes, and he sees Gwen come flying out from behind the counter and run to the door, ushering him in and locking the door again behind him.

"So do you have him chained to the bedpost back there or something?" Merlin teases as she takes the bag from him and hands him a large chocolate chip cookie.

"You guessed," she cheerily says over her shoulder, heading back to the door. "Coffee's not quite done yet, or I'd get you a cup."

"Don't worry about it," he says, sitting at a table to wait. "Go give Arthur his things. I'll just be down here looting while you're away."

"Okay," Gwen says and disappears.

Twelve minutes later, Arthur and Gwen emerge again, blushing but grinning like a pair of cats who found a whole shop of canaries.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Merlin stands and grins.

"Thank you for the change of clothes and the toothbrush, Merlin," Arthur says, ignoring him.

Gwen goes to open the shop. On her way back to the counter, Arthur grabs her, pulling her into his arms for a lingering kiss.

"Arthur…" she protests mildly, but she is smiling at him.

Merlin smiles.

The two men leave with their beverages. Merlin finally let Gwen make something more interesting than black coffee.

Leon stops them in the doorway. "Are you coming tomorrow?" he asks Merlin shyly.

"Wouldn't miss it," he says back. "Oh, Leon, this is my friend Arthur."

"Leon, nice to finally know your name," Arthur smiles.

"Yours, too. Will you be coming to the concert?"

"Yes. And I read your note," he says ruefully, but he is smiling.

"Hey, Gwen is my favorite cousin. She's been pining after you for weeks, man."

"There was plenty of pining on my part as well," he admits.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," he grins. "All right, I'll let you guys get to work. See you tomorrow? I've, um, made reservations for after, if that's okay."

"Absolutely," Merlin smiles at him, squeezing his elbow affectionately before they head off.

"I do like this," Merlin admits, taking another sip of his Vanilla Latte. "It's a little sweet, but it's good. Don't think I could have it every day, though."

Arthur nods vaguely, not paying attention.

"Arthur?" Merlin looks at his friend, who is completely lost in his own mind somewhere. _His mind that is still back in Gwen's bed._

"I'm thinking of dyeing my hair green and tattooing my face with alligator scales."

Nothing.

"Got a letter from Queen Elizabeth today. She said that she's going to knight me. And she also said that I can have Prince William for my love slave."

Arthur just sighs, and takes a drink of his cocoa, staring down at it like it is Guinevere. She's drawn a big heart on the side of the cup.

Merlin rolls his eyes.

"Arthur, I love you and I want to have your babies."

"What?" Arthur finally notices Merlin has been talking.

"Come here, big boy, give us a kiss," Merlin grins, leaning over.

"You're such a degenerate," he pushes him playfully.

"I've been talking for the past ten minutes," Merlin chides him.

"And I'm sure I missed something truly inspiring," Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Was she that good?"

"Don't know yet. We didn't."

Merlin stops walking and looks at him. "You spent the night together."

"Yes. I slept with her, but I didn't _sleep_ with her. We made out a lot," he grins.

"Really? Wow."

"Still the best night of my life. She's amazing."

SATURDAY

Gwen brushes her teeth and throws her hair back into a quick ponytail, planning on showering later. Grabbing the latest batch of bakery from her kitchen, she heads down the stairs.

Arthur is waiting outside. Gwen's face breaks into a broad smile as she approaches the door and sees him, dressed casually for a change in jeans and a Seahawks sweatshirt.

"I missed you last night," she says, opening the door for him.

"I missed you, too. It was my father's birthday so I was obliged to be in attendance." He brings his arm out from behind his back, producing a bouquet of flowers for her. "For you, my sweet."

"Thank you." She smiles and takes them in one hand, grabbing his hand with the other, pulling him with her to the counter. She set the flowers down and pulls him close, her arms around his neck. His hands stroke her back, holding her close, pulling her up slightly to receive his kiss.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks, opening her eyes.

"Not anything I can have right here," he smiles seductively, and she laughs, slapping his chest playfully.

Later.

Arthur pulls his BMW up to the front of Gwen's coffee house, waiting.

"Is she coming out? Do we go pound on the doors like a couple of hooligans?" Merlin asks.

"I told her I'd be here at 6:30. She said she'd meet us out fr—oh, there she is," he says, opening his door. "You: back seat," he orders Merlin as he exits.

"Yes, Sire," Merlin rolls his eyes and exits as well, moving to the back.

"Guinevere, you look gorgeous," Arthur sighs, momentarily forgetting how to walk. She's wearing a coat against the chilly autumn air, but her hair is down, one side tucked back with a flower nestled in and she is wearing makeup as well, her succulent lips shiny and tempting. Her shapely legs taunt him above simple black heels, and he can see the hem of something purple peeking out from beneath her coat.

"Thank you, you look very handsome," she answers, leaning in while he kisses her cheek. And he does. _He's usually in a suit, or at least a shirt and tie, but I've never seen this one. At least I don't remember it. Is that black or navy? And cufflinks, very classy._

Arthur opens the door for her and gives her a hand in. "Hi, Merlin," she says, looking back at him. "Do you have enough room?"

"Hi, Gwen. Not really. You look great. I think Arthur forgot his name for a second there."

Gwen laughs, and scoots her seat forward. "Better?" _And he only just saw me in my coat. I hope he likes the dress._

"Yes, thank you."

"You didn't have to move back there," she says as Arthur buckles his seat belt.

"Yes, he did," Arthur smiles. Merlin reaches forward and smacks him lightly on the back of the head. "Put your seatbelt on, Merlin."

They check Gwen's coat, which is removed to unveil an aubergine dress, simple but elegant. Arthur stares as the rest of the room blurs. Her curves are outlined perfectly but demurely, the skirt falling just below her knees, slightly flared at the bottom, leading up to a lovely narrow waist and a v-neck exposing a bit of tantalizing cleavage. The sleeves are long and fitted, outlining her slender arms.

"Wow," is all Arthur can manage. Gwen smiles and looks down.

Merlin taps him on the shoulder. "Hey. Seats. Feeling like a third wheel here. And Gwen, you look stunning."

They follow the signs to their seats. "We're in the first tier, I guess," Merlin mutters, looking at the tickets.

They sit and look down over the concert hall. "These _are_ good seats," Merlin gushes. They are dead center in the second row of the lowest balcony.

Gradually the players take their seats, and Arthur and Gwen watch in amusement as Merlin leans forward, eyes glued, searching for Leon.

He strides onstage in his tuxedo, bassoon cradled casually but carefully in the crook of his arm. He sits and peers up in their direction. Merlin ventures a small wave. Arthur snorts. Gwen smiles. So does Leon; he sees them.

The lights dim, and Arthur reaches for Gwen's hand, holding it on his knee. "You really look beautiful, Gwen," he leans over and whispers, brushing his lips against her soft cheek.

She squeezes his hand in thanks as a rakishly handsome man with long brown hair strides onto the stage like he owns it.

"Oh, not him," Gwen says.

"What's that?" Arthur turns to her.

"Piano soloist for the first half. Gwaine Appleby."

"What about him?"

"He's an excellent player. Fun to watch, actually. But he always tries to hit on me when I go backstage to see Leon," she sighs.

Arthur's brows furrow as he tries to form the question in his head tactfully.

"No, I've never gone out with him, though not for lack of trying on his part," Gwen chuckles, squeezing Arthur's hand again.

"Shhh," Merlin says as the conductor, an old man with white hair and expressive eyebrows, walks slowly onstage.

Arthur flips open the program. _Rhapsody in Blue_ by Gershwin. _Hmm. Must have missed this one on the ticket, I only remember seeing that Spring one._ His eyes lift for a moment as the clarinet solo begins the piece, soaring out and over the theatre, capturing the crowd's interest.

Just not Arthur's, not really. He glances over to see Gwen and Merlin watching attentively. _Merlin is just watching Leon, the little tart._ He does like watching Gwen enjoy the music, though. _I would watch her floss her teeth, though, I think._

He turns his attention back to the orchestra, watching the soloist, secretly hating him already for trying to pick up on _his_ girl. _But it was before you had any claim on her, idiot, _a voice in his head tells him. _Doesn't matter, _he argues back. _Okay, he is kind of fun to watch, I will admit that._ Arthur watches the soloist, his long hair flying as his fingers dance over the keys. _How can he even see? Well, I suppose you don't have to see to play piano. Look at Stevie Wonder._ Gwaine lifts his head for a moment and Arthur can see he is grinning, leering at the piano almost lustily. _Yeah, he thinks he's hot shit._

Merlin leans over and whispers something to Gwen, and she nods in agreement and responds, gesturing with her free hand as they discuss some interesting aspect of the performance. Arthur adjusts his position in his seat as the music grows quiet. His eyes drift closed.

_Her hand feels so small in mine. Very soft. _Absently he strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. He opens his eyes again and glances at her, her face bathed in the ambient glow from the faraway stage lights, eyes bright, clearly enjoying the performance. _I have never seen anything so beautiful._ He longs to pull her into his lap and lavish kisses upon her. _But that won't do at all. Not here. _He closes his eyes again.

_She was so wonderful Thursday night. She made me spaghetti. Eventually. I love spaghetti. Cozy on her couch, cuddled under a soft blanket, watching a Disney Movie. She felt so right in my arms. It was like I'd known her forever, like we had been together for years…_

_...Gwen turns to Arthur, her dewy lips parted, her sweet breath coming in short bursts, her breasts rising and falling in a most alluring way._

"_Arthur," she calls to him, her voice husky and soft. He reaches for her, paying no heed to the others in the seats around them, pulling her into his lap. The narrow theatre seat expands to fit both of them comfortably as his lips find hers. The world around them shifts and they are in a field of purple flowers, a rolling meadow in the sun. He can feel the sun kissing the crown of his head, warming his bare toes. He can feel the breeze blowing her hair against his neck, the soft curls tickling his skin._

"_Guinevere, my love, my queen," he mutters into her neck, his hands bunching the material of her dress as he holds her against him. She feels like silk. She tastes like spun sugar on his tongue. He encapsulates her petite body with his, surrounding her, protecting her from every bad thing, every person that may want to hurt her, every harm of the cruel world._

Gwen feels that Arthur's hand has relaxed in hers, and she glances over at him. Snickering, she pokes Merlin and leans back, pointing at Arthur. They giggle a bit over him, but then the music turns loud for the conclusion of the piece and his body jerks just slightly as he wakes. He peeks over at Gwen.

_Busted._

She squeezes his hand, and he lifts it and kisses her slender fingers, leaning over to whisper, "Sorry."

The piece ends, and the crowd erupts with applause, standing to show their appreciation.

They step out to stretch their legs and empty their bladders during the intermission, knowing that the second half will be longer. Merlin grins at Arthur as they wash their hands. "You fell asleep."

"A little bit. I guess I didn't find the music that interesting. Had a nice little dream about Guinevere, though."

"Well, that's… dangerous," Merlin chuckles as they walk back out to the lobby area.

"It wasn't _that_ kind of dream. It was just… nice. Romantic. Cozy."

"Cozy?"

"What?"

Merlin peers at Arthur. "You're in love with her," he says plainly.

Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but closes it. _No point. He's right. Besides, she's coming._ "Probably," he admits, his eyes fixed on her as she approaches.

Smiling, she walks right up to Arthur, grabs the lapels of his coat, pulls his face down to hers, and kisses him. She releases him with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you. I needed that," she says plainly.

Arthur recovers from his surprise quickly, laughing delightedly at Gwen's actions. The lights flash in the lobby, signaling that the second half is going to begin, and they file back to their seats with the rest of the crowd.

The house lights drop. The orchestra seems much larger than it was in the first half. "Are there more people?" Arthur asks. He really doesn't remember much of what he saw or heard Thursday night when they watched _Fantasia_; he was otherwise occupied.

"Yes, this piece is for a larger group of players than the last."

"Hmm. I guess I thought that orchestras were, I don't know, standard or something," he shrugs.

"Not at all. Now shh. Here comes Leon's big moment."

The piece starts, and the _quiet_ of it stuns Arthur, who had been prepared to get hit with a wall of sound from a group that size. Leon is the only one playing, a plaintive, lyrical solo. Haunting, floating, soft. Beautiful. Arthur glances over at Merlin, his eyes wide, on the edge of his seat.

Other players dribble in, adding their voices as Leon continues. _It certainly sounds like spring, _Arthur thinks. He settles back in his seat, Gwen's hand still clasped in his on his knee. _I already like this one much more._

The music turns louder, darker, more primal. When the entire orchestra plays, he can feel the vibrations of the music in his belly; the thumping of the drums, the growl of the brass, the singing of the strings.

_This is really cool. I didn't know classical music could sound like this._

The three friends watch, each entranced, each lost in his own reverie as they watch and listen. The music is ever-changing, now so soft and lyrical that they are almost straining to hear; now bombastic and fiery, full of passion and anguish.

_There is no way I could fall asleep listening to this._

It ends all too soon, with a tiny floating flute solo and a final jarring chord. The crowd jumps to their feet as one, applauding exuberantly. Merlin whistles his appreciation when the conductor singles out Leon for a bow, followed by other soloists.

"Come on," Gwen urges the two men down the aisle before the applause ends.

"What?" Merlin blusters as she pushes him and pulls Arthur. "Sorry. Excuse us," he apologizes to the other patrons they are trying not to step on.

"If we're going to get backstage, we have to go _now,_" she explains.

They hurry down, Gwen leading, holding Arthur's hand in one of hers and Merlin's in the other. Through a hidden door, down a small dank stairwell, to a heavy door. Arthur opens the door and Gwen enters, followed by Merlin and about ten other people, and his courtesy waylays him outside.

"Well, well, _this_ is a gift I can really appreciate," Gwaine says, closing in on Guinevere. People are passing him roses and bottles of champagne and expensive chocolates, congratulatory spoils for his performance tonight. "I can't wait to unwrap it," he grins, leaning in close to her.

Gwen smiles politely and simply says, "Hello, Gwaine, you played very well tonight, as always," just as Arthur finally catches up to her.

"Sorry, I got stuck holding the door," he says, bending to kiss her cheek and place his arm around her shoulders in a possessive sort of way.

Much to their surprise, the cocky pianist immediately backs off. "Oh, sorry, man, I didn't realize she had a boyfriend now," he apologizes to Arthur, "I'm just playing around, you know…" he backpedals.

_I'll be damned._ "Gwaine Appleby, this is Arthur Pendragon," Gwen decides to introduce them, since Gwaine decided to reveal the fact that he is a human being after all.

"Hi, nice to meet you, you lucky bastard," Gwaine says, offering a hand, which Arthur accepts and shakes with a chuckle. "Pendragon? You're not related to that lawyer guy are you, the one with those really dumb commercials?"

Arthur laughs. "That lawyer guy would be my father," he says, "and you're right, those commercials suck. I told him, but he doesn't listen to me." He shrugs, finding he likes this piano player despite himself.

Leon and Merlin work their way over to them, and Gwen jumps, throwing her arms around her cousin's neck in a large hug.

"Lee, that was awesome! You were freaking out for _nothing!_ It was _so_ good," she gushes, and he smiles shyly.

"Thanks," he says. "Hey, Arthur, did you have a nice nap?" Leon grins at him.

Arthur punches Merlin on the shoulder. "You told!"

"Of course I told; it was too good!"

Gwaine looks at them. "Nap?" he raises an eyebrow.

"During _your_ performance," Leon teases. "But he stayed awake for the second half."

Gwaine laughs again, surprising them once again. "First time for everything, I guess."

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean to…" Arthur says, trying to save face.

"Hey, no problem. Hope you had some dreams about Gwennie-pie at least," he winks, then turns as someone has tapped him on the shoulder. "Nice meeting you. Later," he says, turning away.

Arthur glowers at Merlin. "Thanks, jerk."

"Oh, lighten up," Merlin laughs, and looks at his watch, then at Leon.

"Yeah, we need to go," Leon says.

"Merlin, why don't you ride with Leon?" Gwen suggests, gently pushing him in the same direction as her cousin.

"Yeah, why don't I?" he agrees, and walks off with Leon.

"So Arthur, what did you think of the concert?" Leon finally asks while they eat. He looks both exhausted and exhilarated at the same time, spent yet full of adrenaline.

"Well, the parts I stayed awake for were very good," Arthur grins. "I really liked _Rite of Spring._ I've never heard anything like it. I mean, Gwen made me watch _Fantasia_ the other night with her, but, um, I don't really _remember_ much from it…" he trails off, realizing he may have talked himself into a corner.

They all laugh, and Gwen blushes. "So. I told you there was going to be a quiz." She turns slightly toward him, intentionally pressing her knee against his under the table.

Arthur sighs. "All right. The beginning was definitely the spring part. I could totally hear that. So I can assume that the rest would have something to do with the Rite, then. Sure sounded like some sort of pagan ceremony going on. What was the phrase I thought of? Oh yeah: cavemen having sex."

The table erupts with laughter, drawing looks from other diners now.

"You're not terribly far off the mark," Leon says. "The music was actually originally written for a ballet. Primitive society, ritual sacrifice of a maiden. She dances herself to death."

"Lovely."

"Yeah, the crowd rioted at its premiere."

"It was that good?"

"No, they hated it. It was 1913, remember. These were sounds that had never been heard before. The audience thought it was noise, and the dancing scandalous."

Arthur makes a confused face.

"Think of it like our parents and grandparents and all their friends going to a Nirvana or Alice in Chains concert," Gwen adds, twining her foot around his.

"Ah," Arthur nods, touching her knee beneath the table, trying not to get too distracted.

"Stravinsky was a rock star," Leon muses, almost to himself, lifting his glass to take a drink.

The waiter asks if they'd like dessert. They start to decline, but Arthur glances at Gwen. "You want dessert, don't you?" he asks, smiling knowingly at her.

"No. Yes. Can we split something?"

"Whatever you want," he says, moving his hand to cover hers.

"As long as there aren't blueberries in it," she amends, remembering. She picks up the dessert menu the waiter has brought. "Ooo. Chocolate peanut butter cheesecake or chocolate lava cake?"

"Either would be excellent. Which one is bigger?" he asks the waiter.

"We'll have one of each and we can all share," Leon declares, plucking the menu from Gwen's hands and handing it to the waiter, who nods and walks away.

Outside.

The four friends stand in the cold, damp night air or the parking lot.

Leon hugs Gwen and shakes Arthur's hand. "Thanks for coming tonight. It meant a lot to me."

"I always love your concerts," Gwen says, inching closer to Arthur. She's cold.

"So, um…" Merlin says, not sure which car he should go to.

Leon reaches for Merlin's hand, and Merlin has his answer.

Smiling, he waves at Arthur and Gwen as he walks around to the passenger side of Leon's car.

"Have fun, but keep in mind you will have to work on Monday," Arthur calls, teasing his best friend. Merlin just grins and ducks into the car.

"Are you tired?" Arthur turns to Gwen, his hands holding her arms gently.

"I'm mostly cold. Can we get in the car?"

"Oh, sorry! Yes, of course," he quickly opens the passenger door for her and ushers her inside. He jogs around and climbs in, quickly turning the car on and cranking the heat.

Looking over at her, huddled in her coat trying to get warm, Arthur feels good. _Right. Happy. Unbelievably happy._ He leans over and touches her chin with his fingertips, turning her face towards his.

She leans into his kiss, her hand coming across the center console of the car to grip his thigh just above his knee while his hand slips around behind her neck, the curious coarse-yet-soft texture of her curls caressing his knuckles.

Guinevere sighs into his lips, parting hers to meet his tongue with her own. Arthur's other hand reaches for her waist, trying to pull her closer, craving the feel of her body against his, but the layout of the car is against him and all he can do is clutch her coat in his fist, frustrated.

"Wow, I'm warm now," Gwen says once their lips part, squeezing his leg gently as she bestows a coy little smile on him.

He smiles back, basking in her presence. "Do you… do you want to go somewhere?" he asks, his mind empty of anything intelligent to say.

She nods. "Your place."

**Song suggestion: "Girlfriend" by Matthew Sweet. And if you don't know "Rhapsody in Blue" or "The Rite of Spring," do check them out.**

**Only one chapter left, present day!**


	12. Los Angeles

**Okay, so Anastasia-G had real life get in the way, so she's given her blessing for me to finish this up.**

**Los Angeles**

**Present day**

Arthur stares into the rear-view mirror, watching the motorcycle parked behind him, its lights flashing, as he sits on the shoulder of Los Angeles' I-5.

He sighs, watching the officer climb off the bike, remove his helmet and set it on the seat of his bike.

Scratch that.

He watches the officer climb off the bike, remove _her_ helmet and set it on the seat of _her_ bike.

He sits up a little straighter and checks his hair in the mirror now, reaching up to smooth his eyebrows. Then he watches her approach in the side mirror.

_Pretty. I didn't think they'd let someone so short be a cop._ She is fit but curvy, the flare of her hips not lost on him at all.

"Good afternoon, sir," her slightly smoky voice reaches his ears and he turns to look up at her.

"My name is Officer Guinevere Leodegrance, California Highway Patrol. I presume you know why I pulled you over today?" She holds her gloved hand out, waiting for his driver's license.

He smiles his most charming smile at her and hands her the license. "Very sorry, Officer, my sister is in labor, and her husband is overseas right now, and I promised her I'd…"

"Save it," she says, peering at his license.

"But…"

"Would this sister about to give birth be your sister Morgana, Mr. Pendragon? Your sister that was photographed just last night emerging from the Viper Room with two very handsome men draped on either arm?"

"Um…"

"So that leads me to believe that either you are lying about your sister or you are lying about your identity. Which is it?" she asks, waving the driver's license back and forth idly.

_Damn, he's even better looking in person._

_ Shut up. Focus._

She smiles slightly. "Waiting…"

"Okay, so I was just speeding, all right?"

"There, now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" she smiles sweetly at him and turns to walk back to her bike to write his citation.

Arthur watches her walk away in his side mirror, admiring the view probably more than he should. _Her uniform really does nothing to hide her hot little body,_ he observes, and suddenly finds himself having thoughts about handcuffs.

She is gone with his license for what seems an unnecessarily long amount of time, and when she returns, she has a slip of paper in her now-ungloved hand and a wicked grin on her face.

"Mr. Pendragon," she says, "a red Maserati? Surely you, with your vast wealth, could come up with something a little less _predictable_ to drive." Her eyes are twinkling at him now.

Arthur stares up at her. _She's teasing me?_ He watches her lovely heart-shaped face with its smooth tan skin glowing in the California sunshine. Her dark hair is pinned up, but there is one naughty curl that has worked its way loose to brush against her neck as it blows in the breeze. He stares at the curl, at the spot on her neck that it kisses…

"Mr. Pendragon, are you ill?" her voice snaps him out of his reverie, his pondering what her neck would feel like against his lips.

"Oh," he starts. "Sorry. And don't make fun of my car, I love this car."

"Then treat it with more care by not driving like you're trying to qualify."

"You are very pretty," he blurts before he can stop the words.

"So are you," she shoots back. "And you're still getting a ticket." _Does he really think I'm pretty?_

He sighs.

"Hey, you can afford it. Besides, how many chances does a person get to write a speeding ticket for a billionaire playboy?" She smiles again and hands him the ticket and his license.

Arthur reaches up, and, looking straight into her lovely brown eyes, he takes the citation and license from her, very intentionally caressing her hand with his fingers.

Gwen clenches her jaw together to keep herself from melting into a puddle on the asphalt.

"And fasten your damn seat belt," is all she can think to say before walking back to her motorcycle.

One week later.

Gwen straddles her motorcycle just behind the viaduct, radar gun in hand, pointing it at cars as the pass, keeping an eye out for idiots.

A flash of red catches her eye. A red Maserati. Driving a reasonable speed. She looks at the plate. _Dragon1_.

She sighs, feeling her face grow warm as she remembers the touch of his fingers on her hand. She also remembers how she's been scouring the tabloids for glimpses of him, even watching TMZ every night just in case they have some gossip about him, no matter how ridiculous or pointless.

_I have become a silly fangirl of a pseudo-celebrity just because he told me I was pretty and touched my hand._

The Maserati pulls off the highway at the next exit, which is within eyesight. Gwen sighs now, watching it, wondering where he is going, and hating herself for it.

_God, why is he even famous? He hasn't_ done _anything. He just has money. A lot of money. Okay, he gives generously to several children's charities. Even started one…_

_ Shut up. Pay attention. That black Hummer was clearly speeding and you missed him completely. Could have been former Governor Schwarzenegger, you know._

_ Or just another random douchebag with a car that is clearly compensation for lacking in other areas. That's much more likely._

_ God, my job is boring sometimes._

Fifteen minutes later she jumps as the familiar red Maserati whips past her now, speeding almost arrogantly.

She flips on the siren and lights, and the only thought in her head when she peels out into traffic is _He did that on purpose._

He pulls over as soon as she catches him up, maneuvering his car easily into the shoulder, waiting patiently.

Gwen yanks her helmet off and slams it down on the seat of her bike. She marches up to the driver's side door of his car.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" she demands.

The grin slides from his face.

"That was reckless, Mr. Pendragon. You could have injured someone. You could have injured yourself," she continues chastising him, her hands on her hips.

"Guinevere…" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Officer Leodegrance," she corrects him, despite the fact that her stomach flipped and her heart thumped when her name slide from his lips like molten honey.

"I'm sorry," he says, draping his hand on the car's window ledge, wanting to reach for hers but leaving it dangling there.

"You knew I was there," she says plainly.

"Yep."

"You got off the highway to circle back around and speed past me."

"Yep."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't write you _another_ ticket, this time for reckless endangerment."

"Because I can't stop thinking about you," he says quietly, suddenly afraid to look up at her. "Your eyes invade my dreams every night. Your voice is all I hear in my head. My fingers burn where they touched your hand."

Gwen is stunned into silence, her lips parting slightly to let out a small gasp. "I said _one_ reason," she finally manages.

"I could give you more reasons, but I'm afraid you'd arrest me for attempting to bribe a police officer," Arthur says, finally lifting his eyes, giving her a look that turns her insides to goo.

"I…"

"Look, I know this was really stupid of me. But I saw you there by the overpass and I couldn't pass up the opportunity," he says, deciding not to tell her that he came out specifically looking for her.

"You could have just pulled over by me, you know," she says, smiling a little now.

"I… guess I never thought of that," he chuckles, venturing one finger out to stroke the skin of her hand. _I notice she took her gloves off right away this time…_

"Mr. Pen—"

"Arthur," he corrects, adding another finger, running them along the back of her hand. "What time is your shift done?"

"Six," she says automatically, her hand itching to turn and twine her fingers with his.

"Am I going to get another ticket?" he asks, looking pathetically up at her.

"No," she says. "As long as you promise to never do that again."

"I promise," he says, reaching out fully to squeeze her hand gently for just a moment.

_It's a damn good thing that this isn't rush hour or we'd have an audience. Then we'd both end up on TMZ for sure,_ she thinks, trying to make a decision.

Gwen reaches up into one of her pockets and pulls out a card. Then she takes a pen from another pocket and turns the card over, writes something on the back, and hands him the card.

Arthur takes her proffered hand in his and kisses it softly before retrieving the card from it.

6:13 p.m.

A very tired Officer Guinevere Leodegrance emerges from the station house, hair down, in civilian clothes, wanting nothing more than to go home and collapse on her couch.

_Or better yet, a hot bubble bath,_ she thinks, stretching her neck to one side, then the other, listening to the satisfying _pops_ that she knows she's not supposed to enjoy outside of her chiropractor's office.

She heads to the parking lot and forgets how to walk.

He's standing there, leaning against his car.

Waiting for her.

He moves first, pushing himself upright off the car, waving a little shyly.

She steps forward slowly. "What are you doing here?" she asks quietly. She _knows_ why, but she has to ask.

"I came here for you," he answers.

"I… I wrote my cell number on the back of that card, you know…" she says, still slowly walking forward.

"I know. But your station's address was on the front," he smiles, stepping forward now as well. "Have dinner with me?"

"Now?"

He nods.

She hesitates. _What if he takes me to some swank restaurant? I just got off work. I look like shit._

"Please?" he asks, noticing her reticence.

"I look terrible," she says suddenly.

"You look beautiful," he argues.

She stops again.

"Too much?"

"A little. We hardly know each other, Arthur."

"I'm trying to remedy that, Guinevere."

_There it is again. He says my name like it is something reverent._ "I know." She is standing right in front of him now. She can feel the warmth from his body, can smell his cologne.

"Okay. But no place fancy," she finally says.

"All right, McDonald's it is, then," he declares, taking her hand and leading her around to the passenger side of his car. "I like a cheap date."

She laughs in spite of herself, charmed by his manners as he opens the door for her and holds her hand, helping her to her seat.

"We're not really going to McDonald's, are we?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him when he slides into his own seat.

"You prefer Taco Bell?" he asks, and she laughs again.

_She has a wonderful laugh._

Arthur starts the engine and looks at her sitting there in a hoodie and jeans, face free of makeup, her soft brown curls free now, playing about her shoulders. He bites his lip nervously and reaches one hand out, caressing her cheek once.

"I will take you wherever you would like to go, my lady."

**Song suggestion: "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. No, my account has not been taken over by my 12-year-old niece. :)**


End file.
